


the lost / the found

by SophiexHorayne



Series: found & lost [1]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: M/M, Might add to the characters but idk yet, Murder, Serial Killers, Set in the 50s, There was only one bed trope, Violence, basically fenn’s treasurehunt but on a huge scale, but will have a sequel!!!, enemies to lovers?, no happy ending, rivals to lovers?, sort of i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:34:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 40,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25571434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophiexHorayne/pseuds/SophiexHorayne
Summary: “He killed him. Ricky actually killed him. Unprovoked and seemingly without motive, the man now lies motionless in the leaves. Tinsley’s heart beats like it’s throwing up a thunderous storm, and he daren’t breathe. Or move.Ricky stalks off, continuing down the hill as though nothing happened. When he is far enough away, Tinsley emerges from behind the rocks. He daren’t ask himself why he is following the murderer’s path down the rocky hill. He treads down and down nonetheless.”*Fenn’s Grand Treasure Hunt of 1954. An innocent quest for gold that turns deadly and ruthless. C.C Tinsley doesn’t know how he got so caught up in it. How he suddenly grew a thirst for gold and a thirst for blood. And a desperate, consuming obsession for fellow contestant Ricky Goldsworth.
Relationships: Ricky Goldsworth/C. C. Tinsley
Series: found & lost [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1941202
Comments: 75
Kudos: 75





	1. The Middle of Nowhere

C.C. Tinsley slams the door of the cab, and stands in the verge of the road. He waits and watches as the vehicle rumbles away into the distance, leaving him entirely alone. This is it: The middle of nowhere. Quite literally, in fact, for in his hands he clutches a map of Nowhere Forest. And, according to all coordinations and calculations, he is standing right in the heart of it. 

Trees line either side of the road, that is, frankly more a little lane, dug out of the forest floor, which cuts the journey you are making by about half, compared to going all the way around the wooded area. 

It’s a little misty. Damp. But it cannot be said to be cold. A humidity hangs around him, like it’s waiting for something to break it.

Since this is the middle, and no one is here, Tinsley wonders if he has got it wrong, the clue, or if he’s early. He checks his watch but it reads 11:57. Surely someone else would have arrived by now. 

Then he hears it, a guffaw of laughter behind him, not far into the trees. He turns around and scrambles his long legs up the verge and into the forest. Some metres in, he makes out a group of 10-20 people gathered about the open space. 

There’s low voices, and they falter when Tinsley draws nearer. The space they occupy looks like an old scout camp, the logs around the edge, the scorched circle in the middle. Everyone watches him approach, step down into the open space, and he smiles a little shyly. 

“Charles Tinsley?” A voice, startlingly familiar, says somewhere to his left. C.C looks over, bemused at the man who steps towards him, “My it’s been- goodness don’t tell me now- 7 years, since your graduation?!”

Tinsley laughs slightly, “Yes, Professor, way to make me feel old.” But he reaches out and gratefully shakes the man’s hand.

His University professor. As tall as he’d always been, the same light beige satchel across his body, his circular glasses still in a state of slipping down his nose. He had taken law, Tinsley, but the Professor also has a degree in history, and last he knew, was studying for one in English Literature. 

“What are you- what are you doing here my boy?” The Professor asks.

Tinsley looks around at the crowd who’ve since turned back to their own conversations, then looks back at the Professor and says, “About the same as anyone else, I’d imagine.”

“And what would that be, exactly?”

Tinsley hesitates, because he thought it was obvious. Gold. They’ve all come for gold and diamonds and art and riches. Whatever else could there be? Seven years and the Professor is still trying to make him overthink. Noticing this realisation dawn on Tinsley’s face, the Professor grins.

“How have you been, Charles?”

“Well,” Tinsley shrugs, “Not bad.” But he slips the hand on his bag strap into his pocket, and the Professor watches this action with a slightly bewildered interest. 

“Well, what are you doing nowadays? Did you become that uh, high ranking lawyer?”

Tinsley hums a little, amused. “Not exactly.” he says, “Private Detective.”

“Oh! Oh, I see. How’s that working out?”

Tinsley shrugs, “Well, you know, I’m now on a treasure hunt, so, I guess that just about sums it up.”

The Professor goes to speak but as he does so the ground begins to rumble and the trees start to shake. The group are met with a shuddering, deafening engine. Somewhat subconsciously, they all look up through the branches and make out the aeroplane growling high above them. As far as Tinsley can make out, it appears to be an old british war plane, painted white with wings thin and doubled up on each other. Besides this, it is too high up to make out much else.

The crowd begin to gasp and murmur and the odd person grabs the binoculars around their neck, or fumble through their bags for a pair. 

“Holy- woah, Charles, I do believe there’s- I believe there’s a man up there!”

“Well I’d hope so.” Tinsley says. Someone has to fly the plane. But as he says it, he realises what the Professor is saying. 

There’s a man standing on the _wing_ of the plane. He squints, not particularly wanting to join the desperate rummage for binoculars and field glasses, but there is indeed a small figure on the edge of one of the plane’s wings.

“He’s going to jump!” Someone in the crowd says amongst the whispers. 

Tinsley wants to say that that’s ridiculous but there’s a man standing on the wing of a plane above a forest. To assume they are going to jump, ironically, wouldn’t be much of a leap. 

And the figure jumps. 

There’s gasps and the group all scatter from the scout camp circle, making way. The figure floats to the ground attached to a parachute, growing from a dot in the sky to a large and looming figure, blocking out the light in the sky until he makes it between the trees and into the forest with the rest of the group He lands smoothly onto the leafy ground, ignores everyone’s wondrous gapes and stares, and unclips the parachute. 

Tinsley is vaguely aware of the plane rumbling away again, and the forest falls quiet. Slowly, the group creep back into the circle. Curious, at the man who’d just landed. Tinsley watches the man fold the parachute. He’s got a large bag on his back in which he fits the well folded material. He has brown skin and darker, black hair. A gold watch shines on his wrist, slipping out from behind a brown jacket sleeve. 

When this man has put away the parachute he takes, from his trouser pocket, a pack of cigarettes. He lights one, aware of all eyes on him, but paying them no attention. C.C Tinsely, cannot, for the life of him, work out whether this man just _thinks_ he’s a gift from God, or if he actually is. 

“Oh, Sir, that was, _magnificent_.” One man tells him, stepping forward.

Exhaling smoke, the parachuting man holds up a forefinger. Instantly, it shuts the stranger up. The crowd crawls with unsettlement, and falls still and uncertain. It weighs down the fog, Tinsley thinks. 

Only then it is broken by the sound of a car engine. A door slam. They all watch a rather small and weedy man make his way across the leafy ground. The odd twig snaps under his feet and leaves crunch. He appears uncomfortable, tugs at his collar. He is wearing a full traditional suit: Black blazer, crisp white shirt and matching black tie. 

“Good afternoon!” He greets. 

Tinsley checks his watch then. 12:06. This man is late. He’s holding cards in his hands, potentially cue cards, Tinsley thinks. 

He crosses through the group, passing the parachuting man who’s still standing in the centre of the space. This man drops his cigarette onto the ground and stomps it out, watching the weedy looking man, gazing him up and down in a way that makes even Tinsley’s skin crawl. He can’t imagine being on the receiving end of that look. 

“I gather you are all here, regarding Mr Fenn’s Grand Treasure Hunt.” The weedy man in the suit says. His voice is bolder, posher, than he looks. He forces a laugh, “And since you are here, congratulations! You have solved the first clue!”

Tinsley glances at the parachuting man and catches him roll his eyes. 

“‘Meet in the middle of nowhere.’ And, indeed, here we are. The middle… of Nowhere Forest.” The man beams, a few of the group clap enthusiastically, but it fizzles out quickly, when no one else joins in. Feeble. “Now, I am Mr Fenn’s assistant. I have been tasked with guiding you all on this… this _exciting_ journey. So, what will happen, is, I will give you a clue, which you will need to solve and travel to. And when you reach that point I shall give you the next clue, et cetera, et cetera…” The man laughs slightly to himself. The crowd shifts a little awkwardly. They do not laugh.

“A-Anyway, does anyone have any questions, before I hand out the next clue?”

There’s a pause. At first no one raises a hand, but then, tentatively, a woman to Tinsley’s right does so. The assistant nods at her.

“How long do you suppose this will last?”

“How long, you say?” the assistant echoes, then wrinkles his nose, “Wellll, depends how quickly you answer the clues and reach the destinations, but uh, a month? Two?”

There’s shocked murmurs around the crowd. It looks like some are already going to bail. Tinsley isn’t bothered. He’s no place to be. In fact, the more months the better. He glances at the parachute man, intrigued, on his reaction, but the guy doesn't even flinch. And Tinsley’s not entirely sure if the man can even blink.

A lot of the questions were answered alongside the clue in the newspaper. Responsible for your own survival. No over night stays provided. No equipment provided. Just a series of nine clues. And the stretch of three states. Oh and the prize, a million dollars worth of art and jewellery. 

Quite honestly, Tinsley was expecting more people. 

He zones out until the parachute man raises his hand. It catches him off guard. He doesn’t look like the kind of man to ask questions. He looks more like the kind that would fight first and ask questions later. 

“Uh, yes, sir.” The assistant greets him kindly. 

The man lowers his hand and snaps, roughly, “Can we just have the second clue?”

There’s some uncomfortable laughter rippling through the crowd. The assistant flushes and tugs at his collar again. “O-of course, any more questions?”

“No more questions.” Parachute man says, raising his voice slightly. The rest of the group seems to silently agree with this sentiment.

“Okay… well… alright. Clue Number two, I hope you are all prepared to write this down…” At his words, people begin to frantically search for something to write on.

Tinsley, on the other hand merely reaches into his back pocket, slides out his notebook and flips it to a blank page. His pencil is very short, now, and black, and slipping through the metal ring binding. He slides it out and poises to write. 

Fenn’s assistant clears his throat. “Take it down to the home of brown, you’re on the way to win the crown.” And for the sake of people writing hurriedly in notebooks and on paper, he repeats it a second time. “Right, and that’s that. Good luck everybody.” He beams around at the crowd, then hurries back through the middle of it once more, heading out the forest.

“Where’s he going?” One woman asks, voice above the rest, but everyone is murmuring the same sentiment. 

“He’ll be going to the next checkpoint.” One guy says. He seems young, and he’s short and wide, ginger haired. The group around him all agree gleefully, 

“Let’s follow him, let’s go.” They race after the man and Tinsley rolls his eyes. As if they are going to catch him. As though proving his point he hears the squeak of tyres and a rumbling motor as the car rides away in the distance.

“Well, Charlie, my boy.” The Professor starts, holding a hand out to Tinsley, “I wish you the best of luck.”

Tinsley had already begun to shake the Professor’s hand but he stops, abruptly, after the second sentence, “Oh, you’re not- I thought we might-” The Professor looks at him cluelessly. “Well, I mean, you know, I thought you’d want to partner up, maybe. But it's fine, it’s fine I’ll er- go it alone.” he says, dragging out the o sound as though to convey that he is completely, totally, fine about this. 

And the Professor understands perfectly, “Wonderful! Yes, I have a lot riding on this quite honestly, I’m going to need all the treasure I can get.” he laughs. Tinsley doesn’t want to pry in this statement, but he remembers the man’s very unsecret gambling pleasures, and it doesn’t surprise the detective hugely, if perhaps the Professor spiralled somewhat.

“Alright, okay.” Tinsley says with a smile, “then I will, er, see you.” He gives the man a nod and his old teacher grins and turns away, walking down through the forest.

Tinsley turns away from him and looks around the group. Everybody else appears not to have come alone, or if they were alone, they are now chatting and conspiring over the clue in some large group or other. Everyone… except parachute man. 

He is well aware that this man is purposely avoiding the group of people. But if he really didn’t want someone to approach him, he’d have surely left the group entirely by now. And he makes eye contact with him quite by accident, and feels it would be too strange to walk the other way now. He ambles over.

“Quite the entrance.” Tinsley says when he reaches him. 

“Was it?” The man replies, and his brown eyes avoid Tinsley’s quite purposely. 

“I think you know that it was.” Tinsley says, “Very dramatic. Cliche, even.” 

Then the man’s eyes _do_ meet Tinsley’s. Quite purposely. And they are brown, but a flash darker. “Is there anything you actually want, sir?” his voice is sweet but in a way that the sweetness is very clearly a threat.

“Um.” Tinsley looks around, as though the trees might provide him with an answer. “I guess not, uh… I’m sorry I don’t...” 

“Ricky Goldsworth.” Parachute man says. And he holds out his hand.

“C.C. Tinsley.” C.C Tinsley replies with a gulp. He shakes the hand

and begins his dance with a devil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *knows the last line is cliche* *keeps it in anyway*
> 
> i hope you liked this??? idk i’ve had the idea for so long i’m scared of posting it lol


	2. When the Sun Goes Down (We All Get Lonely)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: there’s small descriptions or murder and dead bodies (and animals) in this chapter. also food.

Tinsley leaves once he’s given Ricky his name. Ricky Goldsworth. It’s a bold name, sharp, and it must be a self-fulfilling prophecy of some sort, Tinsley thinks, for the man is exactly that. Goldsworth. It’s so wonderfully fitting, for a treasure hunt, that Tinsley dwells on the idea that perhaps the man was messing with him. But he doesn't think so. Ricky appeared to be someone that didn’t tend to lie. Not outright. And he definitely doesn’t seem the type to joke. He’s someone that tells it how it is, and if you don’t like it… well you probably shouldn’t  _ say  _ that you don’t like it. The man is dramatic, thin on patience and hot on anger. 

And he’s clearly determined to win.

C.C realises that he’s not really decided where he’s going. He followed where the Professor went because the clue had said ‘down’ and he assumed that it did indeed mean south. But he’s paid no thought to the end destination, and feels like he should.

He’s gotten far deeper into the forest now and the trees hide the sky from him, making it somewhat dark and very empty. He keeps to the thin path, and comes to a tree on it’s side about a metre from the path. He denotes this a suitable kind of bench and strolls over. 

It’s not as comfortable as it looks, uneven, (and it’s possible he sat right on a knoll in the wood) but it would do. He drops his large rucksack down to his feet and slips the map out of the side pocket where he’d rolled it up. He unravels it and squints closely at it. 

He needs to look for any place name or area with a name including ‘brown’, although he’s sure that’s too simple. The trouble is, that there are a lot of places with  _ brown  _ in the name; brown creek, brown gate, hill of brown, even a moreno lake. But then he spots a place name that makes him stop squinting at the map, his eyes shooting wide open instead. 

_ Queen’s River _

What’s more is that this place is in the centre of all the brown locations, possibly nothing, but a neat coincidence. And  _ Queen _ ? He brushed away the second part of the clue- a mistake.  _ You’re on the way to win the crown.  _ Queen? Crown? He doesn’t even think twice before he rolls the map back up and leaps up from the fallen tree. 

Even if this river, and of course one river goes for miles, isn’t right, all the other potential locations surround it. He can’t lose!

He continues back down the path, strolling, this time, with purpose, a spring in his step. The forest stretches for far further than he can see, and he’s sure it’s going to get darker and deeper, before it gets lighter. It makes him feel as though someone’s watching him, but everytime he looks back there is no one behind him, no one left, no one right. Still he can’t shake it off. 

*

The feeling that he’s being watched becomes more unnerving when he begins to set up a camp for the night. He’s found a slight clearing in the woods, a lack of trees that creates a great window of the sky. But it has become unavoidably dark, now, and even the stars feel like piercing, unblinking eyes. 

He lights a fire, eats some of the bread he’d brought with him, holding a great reluctance to sleep. He does nap, eventually, using his rucksack as a pillow and gazing as far as he can into the blackness of the wood. Occasionally he rolls over, just to check no one is watching him from that side either. 

Never did he invisage he’d be so paranoid. Perhaps he just expects a second person out here, there always used to be. In the light of the fire the ring on his finger glints. He rolls it around against his skin until he falls asleep.

*

He didn’t die overnight, he discovers when he awakens the next morning, but his fire did and he’s a little cold. The sky, wide, above him is clouded over and can only best be described as grey, a lighter grey than the campfire ash, but grey nonetheless. 

Tinsley gathers his things, and heads off at once. He should, with any luck, reach Queen’s river by lunchtime, and hopefully he can get some food while he’s there, use his fishing rod, or something. 

In this particular area of the forest, there is no certain path so he heads as directly south as he can (using the compass in his pocket), almost wading through the dead leaves flooding the ground. There’s little to do, while walking all this way but look at all the trees that look the same, and listen to the monotonous bird calls shrilling over and over. 

So it’s easy to notice something even slightly out of the ordinary. Like a burnt out bonfire, not far down from his own. He treads over to the dark, ashy circle, looks down at it, then around at the trees. Whoever made it is clearly long gone but it looks like the fire was made last night. It should, Tinsley thinks at first, put him at ease. It explains why he felt someone was watching him, because someone did just so happen to be nearby, and it’s not surprising if someone was to follow the same route as him. 

Only some time later, when he’s pressed on through the forest, he finds something else a little more than  _ slightly  _ out of the ordinary. A cluster of broken branches and twigs, only no fallen tree to be found. Tinsley wanders over and tentatively lifts a couple of the large branches.

Flinching, he drops them at once when he sees what is underneath, and stumbles back a couple of steps. He gulps and pans the forest again, once, then again because he’s sure he caught movement somewhere on his left. He stares over at the trees, flickering from one then the other then the other. Then, quite suddenly a bird starts from one of the trees, a blackbird, bursting from the green leaves and darting up towards the sky. It puts him at ease, sure that it must have been the bird he’d seen before too, and bends down in front of the log pile. 

He nearly kneels on a hand, and at once moves out the way, grimacing slightly. He lifts away the branches from the body’s face and looks down at it. There’s no blood on the ground and the man’s eyes are closed. He’s completely pale, round cheeks white, but neck a little bruised, mangled. His heads at an angle. Broken neck. Tinsley carefully lets the branches rest back on top of him and stands back up. 

There are two possibilities: 

**One** \- This is the man who lit the campfire he’d seen this morning.

**Two** \- The murderer of this man lit the campfire he’d seen this morning. 

He’s uncertain which thought made him more uncomfortable. Either way, it could have been him, under those branches. He brushes himself down and although he only touched the tree branches with minimal contact, his hands feel dirty and wrong. The whole forest remains unnervingly still, to an extent that Tinsley doesn’t want to break it. One movement and he thinks every animal in a mile is going to jump at the same time.

But slowly, eventually, he backs away from the man. He’s no clue where he might find a telephone box, not in the middle of a forest, that’s for certain, and besides it’s not as though an ambulance will do the man any good. So he walks away, but no matter how far he gets, he can’t shake the body from his mind, the shift of the forest every time he glances back.

*

It’s late afternoon when he clambers over a style and leaves the forest somewhat behind him. There’s a clearing. Over the style stretches a dusty pathway, running alongside a thin trickling river that leaks from the ground. 

Queen’s River. 

He’s uncertain where abouts to go, now, but continues down the path as the river gets gradually wider and thicker. Deeper. 

Trees still slip down the verge, teasing the river back into the forest, pulling. Tinsley isn’t all inclined to renter, but he’s little choice before the ground is once again leaf filled and the trees lick their roots onto the path. The river’s dug its way through the forest floor. Logs have fallen into the water and leaves speckle the surface. Besides this the water’s clear as anything, he can see far, deep into the bottom. The silver and brown speckled scales of fish glint in the light, catching on the ripples. 

It’s possibly his best chance of a meal.

*

A man appears on the other side of the lake, while Tinsley’s preparing to fish. And this man, of course, is none other than Ricky Goldsworth. He’s sharpened a strong tree branch and rolled up his black trousers, and he wades across the river. 

Tinsley pauses from where he sits on the grass bank, his fishing rod poised in hand. Ricky Goldsworth clearly knows what he is doing, far more than Tinsley does. Staring down at the water, slamming the stick down into it. It’s about his third attempt that catches him a trout. Tinsley watches it flap around from his place in the grass, and looks at his own fishing rod. This, he thinks, is going to be a waste of time.

He attempts, at least for a while, watching Ricky continue to stab about the water some way away. He gets another three fish while Tinsley gets none, and the detective scowls into the water. When Ricky’s finished- and he’s frustratingly aware of him, he wants to be seen, wants to draw, drag attention towards him- Tinsley gives up. Ricky has four trout and he doesn’t see why the man shouldn’t share. 

He journeys a little up river to where there’s an unofficial bridge, a large fallen tree stretched across the water. He wobbles his way across it and drops down the otherside. Strolls down to Ricky.

“No.” The man says. He’s busy gutting a second fish, scraping the insides out with a knife. 

“I’m sorry you just… well I was here first and you sort of… stole my patch, so…”

“Plenty more fish in the sea, Mr Tinsley.” Ricky replies, not looking up. He’s not looked up once.

“Actually it’s a river.” Tinsley mutters, then shakes his head quickly, “Look, would it be such a terrible proposal for us to… share some resources?” 

“Yes.” Ricky answers. 

Tinsley purses his lips and looks around for a moment. “Okay,” he decides eventually, “well… I suppose I will just continue on, I guess I will see you at the next checkpoint when you’ve uh, finished wolfing four trout. My, you might even be late!”

He walks past Ricky Goldsoworth and continues on down the path. Not many steps later, he hears the 

“Wait.”

and stops. Smiles to himself. Turns around. 

“Yes?”

“You may have one. Trout. We will gut them and cook them at the same time. Then you will leave me again. And we’re not going to talk.”

“Whatever you say Mr Goldsworth.” Tinsley says, stepping back over and sitting down beside him.

“Don’t talk.” Ricky says.

*

The fire crackles and Tinsley watches the fish darken in the pan. Ricky’s beside him, checks the watch on his wrist for the 7th time (not that Tinsley has been counting) and gazes out at the trees. Ricky is still enforcing the no-talking rule which Tinsley at first tried to breach. But he didn’t entirely fancy his chances with the knife in Ricky’s hand, that glinted in the sun before sliding across a fish’s side. He remembers the body in the woods, looks at Ricky’s face and feels the unnerving slither slip down his spine. 

It is possibly best that he does as told. 

They eat in silence too as the fire dies between them. Forks clang against their metal bowls and birds sing in the trees above them. Distantly, the river rushes. 

When they’ve finished eating, Tinsley washes his bowl in the river and Ricky puts out the final dying flames of their fire. He doesn’t wait for Ricky to finish. He keeps thinking about the body. And he keeps looking at Ricky. 

He’d rather not take any chances.

This and the fact he’s still not entirely sure where he’s going. He decides to keep following the river, assuming he will simply stumble across whatever he is looking for eventually.  _ Home of brown _ , rolls over and over in his mind. It makes him double take every patch of dirt. 

The wind picks up some late time in the afternoon and it pushes up against the rush of the river and dampens the fog, chills the air. Occasionally, C.C catches himself looking back down the path. He’s still on the outskirts of the forest, trees lined up eagerly against the pathway and rising high, and across, in rows and rows both ways further than he can see. The rushing of the water comforts him. 

Eventually, up ahead it appears as though the lake comes to an abrupt and desolate kind of stop. Trees gather at its end in, some way up from there, sticks and twigs, bracken, clutters up the river, blotting it, almost cutting it in two, if it weren’t for the water leaking around the edges. 

The closer he gets, the clearer it becomes, in Tinsley’s head, that this is a beaver dam. And then it hits him.

_ Home of brown _ .

He isn’t the first to arrive. There’s a small group gathered at the end of the river where it dwindles to nothing except a trickle veering off to the left, rolling down and down back into the forest. He spies the Professor, too, leaning against tree a little way down from the group. Ricky isn’t here, but then Tinsley had set off quickly, in hopes he would create a reasonable gap between them. 

It isn’t long until he spots him though, through the trees some metres off. He appeared quite suddenly. Tinsley hadn’t heard him approach, not even the snap of a twig. He watches through the trees, as the man exhales smoke out in front of him, and then turns a 180, back towards the river. 

If there are beavers inhabiting the dam, the group must have scared them off because they are nowhere to be seen now. Tinsley takes a step back and leans against the nearest tree, jostling the content of his bag. He watches the group beside him chatter away, murmur, disinteresting small talk.

He doesn’t think he’s imagining Ricky’s eyes burning a hole into his back. 

Fenn’s assistant arrives eventually.

“You made it!” He greets. He enters from the opposite side to Ricky, and this time Tinsley distinctly hears Ricky walk over to join everybody. It’s clear then, that anytime Ricky makes his presence known, it is because he wants it to be. 

The weedy assistant claps his hands together and grins around to them all, “Congratulations!” he tells them all. 

“Yeah, whatever, Old Man, cut to the chase.” 

Ricky’s voice over Tinsley’s shoulder, hot on his neck. Briefly Tinsley’s eyes flicker back to him. Close, he is, the man’s mouth to the height of the bottom of Tinsley’s neck, Tinsley’s mouth to the height of the man’s forehead. He’s short, Tinsley truly observes, then, even shorter than he currently presents because he casts his eyes down and finds the man is standing on a large tree root. 

Himself, Tinsely, moves from the tree. Ricky stretched his hand above his head against the bark and it’s too close. He doesn’t fancy being stabbed in the back, or anything, best not to risk being anywhere near Ricky Goldsworth, he thinks. Certainly, he is Tinsley’s prime suspect for the dead man back at the top of the river. 

He steps away and listens to Fenn’s assistant continue to jabber. “...but of course I am hoping the weather holds,” he says, breaking into a laugh as he finishes, “for you guys at least. Don’t want you sleepin’ out in a storm, do we?” 

No one looks amused besides the assistant. Tinsley is sure Ricky’s trying to catch his eye. Tinsley is sure he will not give him the satisfaction.

“Now, I digress, I digress.” The man says, adjusting his tie. There must be a road somewhere, Tinsley thinks, for the man hasn’t a speck of dirt on his trousers, he couldn’t have trudged a forest like that, “Your clue...” he clears his throat. Frantically, the group that is separate from Tinsley and Ricky scrabble for notebooks. Tinsley’s already got his pen poised. Ricky doesn’t move. “From here its no place for the meek. You’ll be met with both bing and weak.”

Tinsley scrawls the phrase then flips his notebook shut. He hears somewhere behind him Ricky mutter  _ bing and weak _ and begin to walk off. He wonders whether to tell someone about the body. But the Professor is powering down back into the forest and the assistant doesn’t look like he’d handle such news. And it’s only going to put himself down as a suspect. Besides, he thinks there might be another body to worry about, when one of the women in the larger group says,

“Where’s Jeff?” 

The detective’s eyes dart at once to where he last saw Ricky. He’d loudly kicked the leaves out his way as he’d walked off, like he wanted Tinsley to know, and at once Tinsley goes after him, speedily. The path amongst the leaves takes him down and down into the forest, treading amongst some rocks, bending down to keep himself from sliding. And whilst bent, still someway up the shallow incline, on a protruding rock, he freezes. 

Below him the forest stretches out, the hill continues, down and down. Halfway, two men. Ricky smiles at a taller man, the one before who had tried to compliment his grand entrance. He reaches out a hand and slides it onto the man’s hip, drawing him closer. The man seems to lean into it, and he certainly draws their foreheads together. Ricky’s hands crawl up him, strokes up the man’s neck.

The switch is so sudden that Tinsley jumps. Ricky’s soft hands, hard, rigid. A snap horrifyingly alike to the crack of a twig. Jeff’s neck is yanked 90 degrees and then his whole body falls limp. Ricky lets go of him and he falls with a thrashing of leaves to the ground.

He killed him. Ricky actually killed him. Unprovoked and seemingly without motive, the man now lies motionless in the leaves. Tinsley’s heart beats like it’s throwing up a thunderous storm, and he daren’t breathe. Or move. 

Ricky stalks off, continuing down the hill as though nothing happened. When he is far enough away, Tinsley emerges from behind the rocks. He daren’t ask himself why he is following the murderer’s path down the rocky hill. He treads down and down nonetheless. 

He stops at Jeff’s body. Ricky’s not even bothered to cover him up this time. Tinsley bends down to the man, nudges the man’s splayed out arms against the his body, sees his eyes, wide open and empty, and grimaces as he slides them shut. He stares at the body for almost a minute. The unmoving chest, the bend of his neck, like his head isn’t really attached, like it doesn’t belong.

Then, finally, he stands. The forest is vast and appears empty. He doesn’t know where the rest of the group are, but perhaps they followed Fenn’s assistant back the other way. Perhaps he truly is alone. He continues downhill.

A path develops, a dip between two rickety lines of jagged rocks and he treads down, quickly, but carefully. The tree’s thin, too, and a cloudy sky groans down at him. At the foot of the incline, the trees engulf him again, and leaves swish under foot. 

Birds scatter and, suddenly, as he turns to see what startled them, he too, is startled and pushed up against the nearest tree. He grunts at the impact and opens his eyes onto deep brown ones, so deep brown Tinsley’s inclined to call them black. 

“Hello Ricky.” He says, with difficulty, the man presses his arm across his throat. Tinsley tilts his head up slightly, heavy for breath. 

“Mr Goldsworth.” Ricky corrects, “Good to see you, Detective.”

“How do you-”

“The way you carry yourself. The way you watch everything. And the way you examined those  _ bodies _ . You have knowledge of crime but you don’t strike me as a doctor. It was either that or you have a rather concerning kink, Mr Tinsle-”

“Enough.” Tinsley says. At the end of the arm across his throat, Ricky grips a knife, glinting silver. “You’re not gonna kill me.” 

“No?” Ricky asks, moving his arm back so that the back of the knife presses cold against the side of the detective’s neck. Ricky breathes heavily, it makes his nose ruffle, crinkle. Tinsley watches the breaths tumble even though the falling air is invisible. 

“No.” Tinsley says, “You can’t deny you’ve followed me all this way. I believe, Mr Goldsworth, that you  _ need  _ me.” He leans closer, holding the man’s dark eyes, feeling his own darken with them. 

“No.”

“Bullshit, look at you. Do you even know where to go, now? Or do you need me to tell you all about my bing and weak solve.” 

When Ricky Goldsworth looks at you it is like you’re being stared down by death and dark, frozen smoke. It’s like he’s smouldering, burning, ready to engulf you. Ricky’s a fire and Tinsley is already aflame. 

Ricky moves violently away, if one can make a retreat violent. Gives him a shove into the bark behind him as he steps back, slips his knife back onto his belt. Tinsley doesn’t move but he tests his throat now free of Ricky’s arm. 

“Good.” he says eventually, pushing himself from the tree, “Come along, Goldsworth.” Tinsley walks and doesn’t wait for Ricky to do the same. 

Ricky hurries through the leaves to catch up with him. “So tell me where we’re going.” He demands.

“I don’t know the end point but I do know we are looking for something to do with birds.”

“Birds?” Ricky echoes.

“Bing and weak, Mr Goldsworth, is wing and beak.”

“Obviously.” Ricky says.

“ _ Obviously _ .” Tinsley retorts. They walk a little further in silence, falling into a synchronised step that makes Tinsley feel some kind of strength. For someone so short as Ricky he knows how to feel bigger, powerful. Tinsley tries not to feel nervous and even though his collar feels tight he daren’t give it any kind of anxious tug. 

“So…  _ Detective _ …” Ricky starts when the forest has completely surrounded them and it’s almost as dark as night. “What’s to stop me from killing you once you’ve led me to the treasure.”

Tinsley grimaces a little at the trees, “Nothing I suppose.” he admits, “but surely the treasure for my life is a fair bargain?” Tinsley doesn’t look over but he can almost hear Ricky thinking.

“We’ll see.” Ricky says. Only Tinsley knows he’s living on time alone, right now, off of well solved clues and pathetic pleading. Ricky is completely set on murdering him and he wonders how the hell he got here, to signing his own death sentence.

*

It’s a couple of hours when Ricky stops. Stars have begun to spark above the trees and even the birds seem to have fallen asleep. 

“This would make a good camping spot.” Ricky says. It’s the first spoken words in a long time and they seem to shake the forest and ring in Tinsley’s ears. The detective looks around, then nods.

“I’ll find my own spot somewhere south.”

“No.” Ricky says at once, stumbles over explaining, “I just mean. I’d like to keep an eye on you actually, don’t want you to do a runner.”

“I’m not your  _ captive,  _ Ricky.” Tinsley says, but the moment he does he realises that somehow, that’s exactly what he’s gotten himself into being. He all but offered himself up as a captive. He shrugs this away, “but  _ fine _ , I’ll sleep with you.” 

Ricky catches the phrase and his lips twitch. Tinsley’s chest tightens. Could Ricky kill him for that accidental phrasing alone? But Ricky says nothing. Does nothing, except drop his bag to the floor and say, 

“We’re going to need wood.”

Not long later a new fire crackles and Tinsley and Ricky both lean against large logs at some distance that is neither opposite or adjacent. Ricky’s hunted some rabbits and Tinsley just lets him cook them while he studies the map. He’d all but envisaged scrounging on berries and slipping into nearby towns for food. Only there aren’t really any towns around and the only berries he's noticed look poisonous. 

There’s every possibility he didn’t think any of this treasure hunt through. 

It’s hard to read the map in the dark so he has to bend over against the fire and he can feel it burning across his face. 

“There is a bird sanctuary about 50 miles from here.” Tinsley observes, “That’s a possibility, right Mr Goldsworth?”

“It’s Ricky.” says Ricky, making Tinsley look up from his map and through the flames at the man. His hands are red from the blood of the animal in front of him.

“Are you just going to correct me no matter which I use?”

“No- no it’s just- Ricky- from now on, if we’re gonna... I can’t hear Goldsworth over and over like that it’s too-” he clicks back into himself and looks back down at the animal, “just Ricky.”

“How about Rick?”

“Ricky.” the man snaps at the same time as drawing the knife down onto the rabbit (although Tinsley can’t see the animal for the fire hides the body). 

“Jeez, okay.” Tinsley says, holding up his hands, “What’s with the change?” he asks, folding up his map.

“It’s just… stuff. You can’t talk,  _ Tinsley _ . You don’t even give your first name. I’m sure you have stuff.”

“Yeah.” Tinsley admits quietly as he slips the map back into the side of his bag, “Yeah.” he says, “Stuff.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is way longer than it meant and i don’t think following chapters will reach this length lol. also i feel like perhaps some of my wording in this chapter is over complicated and i’m sorry if that’s the case !!


	3. No One's Gonna Catch Us Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lots of birds (and a little bit of murder. as a treat). a lot happens here, it's quite the ride i think??
> 
> tw: i mean, there's gonna be this kinda stuff in every chapter but the descriptions of blood in this chapter a quite a lot

The bird sanctuary Tinsley had found happens to be in a small village on the outsides of Nowhere Forest called the Shylands. Tinsley laughed when he discovered so the next morning over left over rabbit. 

“It’s actually kinda obvious.” he says, “ _ Meek _ ?  _ Shy _ ? Boy is that for sure our next location.” 

“Brilliant.” Ricky says with little enthusiasm, “How long will it take?” 

Tinsley wrinkles his nose, “Couple days?”

Ricky rolls his eyes.

“You gotta stop being impatient.” Tinsley tells him, “I think impatience is your defining characteristic.”

“Oh wouldn’t you like to find out.” Ricky retorts sarcastically, stabbing a piece of meat rather violently. 

“I’m just  _ saying _ ,” Tinsley tells him, “we’re gonna be here months, honestly, I think the locations are only gonna get further apart.” 

“Then we best hurry up.” Ricky says, finishing his last mouthful and standing up, “Come on, Tinsley.”

*

The following day is a long one, wet and humid. Mist still clings to the forest and dampens their boots as they trudge through the leaves. It surprises Tinsley that he has quite a job of keeping up with Ricky. The man seems particularly impatient today, desperate to reach the next checkpoint. On occasion he checks his compass to ensure they’re heading the right way, and if he does speak to Tinsley, he speaks much like a child would by simply asking, 

“Are we nearly there?”

To which Tinsley has to say no they are still at least a day away. After the fourth back and forth of this, Ricky grumbles and sulks at the ground.

Tinsley can’t help but laugh, “Well what do you want me to do, Ricky, fly us there?” 

“Well it wouldn’t be your worst idea.” Ricky snaps back. 

They trudge a few more metres in silence before Tinsly says, “Say what did happen to your plane?” 

Ricky looks over at him and scowls, “None of your business.” 

“It confused me. It was british. And yet your accent is American.” 

Ricky is quiet for so long that Tinsley doesn’t think he’ll receive an answer. Until,

“My father dropped me off. The plane is ours but he brought it to America for something, he didn’t explain.”

“How sweet, papa dropped you off to a little school excursion. Did he give you a little kiss on the cheek before you jumped?” 

Ricky stops on the path, “Do you really think it’s a good idea to talk to me like that? I mean you’ve  _ seen  _ what I can do to people, or need I remind you?” 

Tinsley looks down at him and feels an uncomfortable tingle down his spine. Ricky’s eyes are so changeable, soft brown one second, stoic shades of black the next. But then Ricky’s behaviour  _ is  _ changeable so it fits, really. Tinsley swallows,

“No. You’re right. I’m sorry.” he says in a voice that feels overdone, on pleasantry, “My mistake.” he adds.

Ricky turns and walks on, not checking that Tinsley is following, but speaking as if he is. “You know I  _ was  _ going to tell you where exactly I’m from but you’ve blown it now.”

“Oh. No, Ricky, come on, I’m sorry if I ruined a little moment for you.” Tinsley says, but he can’t really keep the pleasantness of his voice anymore and it begins to seep with sarcasm. 

“Shut  _ up _ .” 

In a moment Ricky has him pressed against the nearest tree. And the stumble towards it has Tinsley’s ankle twisted, rolling on a tree root. He hisses, 

“Come on, Ricky, there’s no time for this.” Tinsley wonders exactly how far he has to push to make Ricky snap. 

Ricky goes to speak but before he can, both of them become aware of footsteps, boots swishing leaves. And low, overzealous singing. Tinsley looks at Ricky pointedly,

“Let’s get going before he overtakes us.” he says. And Ricky does let Tinsley go, steps away from where he’s pinning him to the tree, but he doesn’t make to leave.

Instead he peers down the path, and quickly crosses into the mess of unwalked forest to the left. In bewilderment, Tinsley watches for a moment, then, with an anguished, whisper of

“ _ Ricky! _ ”

he hurries into the forest after him, realising his ankle still aches a little from rolling it on the tree root.

“What are you doing?” Tinsley asks when he reaches the fallen tree trunk that Ricky’s crouched behind. They’re still close to the path, slightly down a small incline. The tree trunk is covered in ivy and moss and Tinsley rests his fingers against it to keep himself steady.

“Stay here.” Ricky says quietly. The singing grows closer. The song’s unrecognisable, the tune foreign to them both, and the words make no sense to Ricky either, not that he pays much bother to it. But Tinsley understands,

“Ricky wait!”

Ricky does not wait. He crawls to the edge of the fallen tree, where the uprooted base shields him from view of the path, from the man joyfully strolling down the path. He’s wearing a beige coat and matching hat, making him appear like a particularly eccentric bird watcher. His satchel matches too, as does his rucksack. But the man’s knee high socks that reach to the edges of his beige shorts, are in fact bright blue. 

Tinsley watches in dismay. He considers alerting his Professor but is sure that it would simply result in two deaths. He could pull Ricky back, but again, potentially two deaths instead of one. So he doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, just watches when Ricky chooses his moment and pounces from behind the tree, darting up the path and onto the Professor.

The man yells out to the forest, but it only sends birds flying away. Tinsley can see the glint of the knife as Ricky lifts it, and it’s a blur of silver as it plunges down into the Professor. He can’t really see the man from this angle. He can hear his shouts of pain and he can see Ricky, straddling him. He sees a flailing arm of his Professor, and then sees the same arm flop to the ground.

Tinsley unfreezes and sprints back up onto the path.

“What the fuck Ricky?” he demands at once, watching as Ricky climbs off of the Professor.

“What?” Ricky asks innocently, “He was overtaking.”

Tinsley looks at Ricky agape, then down at the body when he hears a strangled, gargling voice.

“Charl- charl-”

Casting Ricky a look, Tinsley bends down, “Professor… I’m so sorry.”

“Wh- wh- why are you-  _ him _ -” The Professor is speaking more in blood than words. It pours from his mouth, making small, frothy little bubbles in the corners of his lips. Tinsley swallows and keeps watching it pour.

Then, when the blood slows a bit (but the man’s chest still heaves), Tinsley turns to the Professor’s satchel and fumbles hurriedly through it. Ricky watches, Tinsley can feel his eyes boring into him. He finds what he’s looking for, a large paper bag.

He opens it and peers inside. The sweet, fruity smell at once hits him, so long since he has even been near so much sugar. Then he stuffs the bag into his own pocket and reclasps the Professor’s satchel.

The man is still alive, and his weak hands vaguely attempt to grab at Tinsley, and his throat vaguely attempts to speak but he fails on both counts, and even if he hadn’t, Ricky’s already pulling Tinsley away.

“Ugh, come  _ on _ , Tinsley.” Ricky hauls him back up to the ground with an eye roll. He half drags him back down the path. Tinsley glances a last time at his old Professor, still gargling his own blood, bleeding out into the path.

“That was  _ messy _ , Ricky.”

“Oh and there’s me thinking you were upset I killed your little friend.” Ricky teases. Tinsley scowls at the floor,

“I  _ am  _ upset about that.” he snaps back and kicks at a twig, sending it bumping off of the path, “Of all people, Ricky?!”

“You could have stopped me.” Ricky replies. He’s tossing his knife up and down in his hand, catching it seamlessly by the handle every time, “you didn’t even  _ try _ to save him.”

“‘Could’ve stopped you.’” Tinsley echoes. Had that all been some sick kind of test? An experiment for Ricky? Just to see what Tinsley would do? The jelly beans feel heavy in his pocket now, “I don’t fancy my chances, actually.”

Ricky smiles at this and slips his knife back into its place on his belt, “Did you steal those jelly beans just for yourself or are they a free for all?”

Tinsley doesn’t know why he gives in to this without a fight. Decides he just wants rid of the things.

*

Tinsley isn’t going to apologise for being upset at Ricky killing his Professor. He’s also not going to talk about how his first thought at seeing the man’s dying body was  _ I wonder if he still keeps jelly beans on him at all times _ . And although he’s tempted to complain about Ricky’s greed at eating a large portion of the jelly beans, he’s not going to- he’s sure he’d only end up dead for it.

So he says nothing. And Ricky says very little aside from the odd ‘are we nearly there’ (to which Tinsley replies, no, still an entire day away), meaning they spend much of their day in silence.

Occasionally a bird flaps its wings, starting from the trees and making them jump, or they twitter and caw from above them, but besides that there are few noises. The paths, on and off, become more official, dirt tracks and gravel that relieve their boots from swishing wet leaves.

On and off in the afternoon it drizzles. Ricky complains and Tinsley ignores him. They keep walking. 

When it gets dark they set up camp again. Ricky finds food, Tinsley finds firewood, joking to Ricky not to kill a human while he’s at it (not a funny joke, if Ricky’s glare is anything to go by.) And soon enough they’re watching food cook over the campfire. Tinsley has pointed out that he has a camping stove, but Ricky’s pointed out that he’d like to sleep with warmth too. So they both stare at the flames. The pot they’ve stood over the fire (on a makeshift stand of long tree branches) emits steam and warm, smokey smells. 

Tinsley inhales the scent and sighs, leaning against the log beside him. He can feel Ricky watching him, waits for him to speak. 

“So…  _ Detective _ … what would you say is the craziest case you’ve ever had?” he asks. It takes Tinsley by surprise, he thought Ricky was far from interested in small talk or any kind of talk about one another at all.

“Oh easy.” Tinsley replies, “There was a body. And a decapitated head. Together, you know, it wasn’t until someone lifted the body that they realised the head did not lift with it. However, that head did not belong to that body. Or vice versa, whatever. The  _ head  _ was from the gallows, the  _ body _ , the head’s twin brother. The murderer? A policeman. The actual head was found in a nearby river. Just trying give us the run around, baffle everyone, or something.”

He expects Ricky to be impressed by this, but when he turns to face him, the man is smiling in amusement. “ _ That’s  _ the best you’ve got?” He’s turned towards Tinsley though, sitting on his side, legs stretched out and elbow resting on the log. It’s far more pleasant than angry or silent Ricky, so Tinsley just goes with it.

“You’re not impressed?” Tinsley asks. He tries to think of a more interesting case, but most just regarded house fires or marital affairs, missing people who turn up somewhere within a few days (dead or alive). 

Ricky smiles, strangely gently, “This one time I burnt someone limb by limb. Pushed a finger through someone’s eye… God the screams. Another time I scattered body parts around London.” he pauses to smile at the cloudy dark sky between the trees, “God were forces stumped on who the guy even was.” he shakes his head, still looking up, as though remembering the best of times. 

“Wait. That was  _ you _ ? The London Limbs was  _ you _ ?”

Ricky grins widely, “Oh you heard about that? Still hate that name though.”

“Every detective I’ve known has heard of it!” Tinsley replies, “God you’re… you’re a legend!” he catches himself a little too late, “Uh… I mean, killing people isn’t- it’s not… but as far as method goes-”

“Relax, big guy, I’m well aware that I’m a legend.” he turns around, so his body isn’t facing Tinsley and instead faces forward. Flames make his face glow, shadows dancing across it. Tinsley can’t look away, even when Ricky takes a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lights one, gripping the material between his lips until fire jumps on the end of it. He exhales smoke that joins the fire in front of them.

Tinsley looks away from him and thinks quietly. When he speaks he feels like the fire may engulf him, “Do you ever… think about them? The people you’ve killed.”

“No.” comes Ricky’s immediate and blunt answer. Tinsley turns to him as he continues, “Why would I? I didn’t even know most of them.” 

“How about the ones you did know?” Tinsley suggests. How could he  _ not  _ think of them? 

Ricky’s quiet. He takes another drag from the cigarette and only speaks when he’s finished exhaling, almost in slow motion does the smoke tumble from his mouth. “There is only one person I ever waste my time thinking about.” 

Tinsley eyes him. He’s trying not to show emotion but he looks sad, possibly regretful, it shines in his eyes. Perhaps that’s just the fire. 

“I have a feeling I’m not supposed to ask who you think of?” 

“You’d be right.” Ricky tells him, staring into the fire, continuing to smoke. He looks almost as though his mind is somewhere else.

Tinsley says nothing more. He looks at his lap, then the fire, then at Ricky in turn, over and over until the man stubs his cigarette out in the dirt.

“Right.” Ricky says eventually, leaning forward, “Dinner time.”

They eat in silence and leave their dishes for washing in the morning.

“Okay I’m going to sleep.” Ricky says, “Perhaps you should keep watch, you know, in case of looters or saboteurs from the other hunters.”

“Unbelievable.” Tinsley says, but he doesn’t feel like sleeping anyway. He mindlessly rolls the gold ring on his finger. It looks so alive when it reflects flames. 

“That’s me.” Ricky says, and Tinsley can’t see him, but he’s sure he’s smiling, at least a little. 

*

“Are you… sure this is the place?” Ricky asks Tinsley.

They’re both standing in front of great wooden gates that not even Tinsley can see over. On the left side of the gate is a plaque, nailed shoddily into the panels reading  _ Welcome to Shylands Bird Sanctuary _ . On the right there’s a small sign with badly painted yellow lettering that spells  _ Donations welcome! _

“Well it’s where the map shows it to be.” Tinsley replies. Either side of the gates run a huge stone wall. The other side of the wall, the odd bird squawks and owls hoot. 

“Well perhaps you got the stupid clue wrong.” Ricky says. Tinsley frowns,

“Well I didn’t see your input.” Tinsley snaps back.

“No, this is entirely your fault.” Ricky replies. 

Tinsley rolls his eyes. “Well, look let’s just…” 

There’s a large metal ring near the centre of the gate and Tinsley lifts and twists it, raising the catch which makes the door burst inwards at once.

“Wait, Tinsley…” 

Tinsley, halfway through the gate now, looks back at the man, “What?” he asks, “There’s no harm in checking the place out while we’re here anyway.” he says. 

Ricky looks reluctant, but eventually straightens himself and follows Tinsley through the gate. He closes it behind him, assuring the catch is back in place. Then he steps up beside Tinsley. 

They’re standing on a wide gravel path. Grass and bushes bundle together either side of the pathway and a few metres down stands a small building. A head pokes through the window of it. 

“Welcome!” The head greets.

Tinsley glances at Ricky before walking slowly up to the person. They wear a garish red shirt, has short brown hair and bracelets crowding both of their brown arms. 

“Hi, we’re here because of a treasure hunt and I think we’re actually in the wrong place so…” Ricky starts, but Tinsley nudges him.

“Still, I’d like to look around while we’re here.”

“No you wouldn’t!” Ricky replies, grabbing at Tinsley’s wrist and attempting to drag him away. 

The person in the kiosk looks between the two of them awkwardly, “Uh… well if you’re here for a treasure hunt you’re not in the  _ wrong  _ place.” they say. Tinsley smirks at Ricky victoriously. 

“Thank you, that is  _ great  _ to hear.” Tinsley says, leaning against the kiosk desk, “So are we the first here or…”

“I think so.” the person replies, “I can give you some maps and information on the place, bits about the birds we have, how we keep the place going.” they slide a couple of fliers onto the small desk area. 

Tinsley takes them eagerly, and nudges Ricky to take the others. Ricky takes them, but reluctantly.

“Well, thank you very much uh… I’m sorry I never caught your name?”

“Jay.” the person replies with a smile. 

“Nice, as in, like, the bird?”

Jay’s face falls a little, “That’s a coincidence.” they say.

“Of course, of course!” Tinsley replies, “It’s a great name.” he assures. Jay smiles a little.

“Thank you.” they tell him, “I hope you enjoy your time here. And good luck with that hunt!”

“Thank you!” Tinsley replies, grinning back at Jay until Ricky shoves him away and up the path.

“Christ, stop flirting.” he grumbles, beginning to storm ahead.

Tinsley rolls his eyes and hurries after him. When he catches up to Ricky some way up the path he’s intently reading the fliers Jay had given them. 

“They’ve got hummingbirds here Ricky!”

“Fascinating.” Ricky replies in a mumble, “Just look out for that assistant.”

“Sure, sure… hey look at these guys!” Tinsley says, stopping at the first cage. It’s large, long, and multiple small yellow and white birds flit about inside from branch to branch, “Some little canaries!”

“We don’t have time for bird watching!” Ricky says, trying to drag him away.

“On the contrary I feel that we do!” Tinsley replies, shrugging Ricky off of him, “No one else is even here yet.” 

Ricky grumbles and continues to walk briskly up the path while Tinsley spends time at each cage. He pauses to read about them in the fliers too, learns about specific birds in the sanctuary that had been found injured or orphaned. He finds them all fascinating. 

He eventually catches up with Ricky in the centre of the sanctuary, sitting on a bench that backs on to a small stretch of grass.

“I bet they do shows with the birds over here.” Tinsley says excitedly, “We should stick around for that.”

Ricky doesn’t bother to reply, studies his nails, “Are you finished yet? That assistant’s nowhere to be found.” 

“Then I have all the time I want!” Tinsley retorts, “There’s this eagle back there Ricky, god you gotta see it.” 

“I’m really not that interested, big guy.” 

“You know... I like when you call me that.” Tinsley says before turning away and going back to the previous cages he felt he’d rushed through. 

The assistant appears eventually, now wearing a top hat that hides his balding head. “Ah you two are here!” he greets, “Marvellous, just you?”

“For now, it seems.” Tinsley says, “We can wait for the others, I could stay here all day.” 

“Disagree.” Ricky replies, standing quickly from the bench, “I’d like the clue now, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Of course.” The assistant loosens his bowtie slightly, like it’s a nervous habit, “The clue you’re looking for is in 360 degrees.”

“I’m sorry?” Ricky echoes.

“He means owls, idiots, the clue is in the owl enclosures, come on.” Tinsley drags Ricky around the grassy area and around the path to the owls. 

“Here we are.” he announces, gesturing to the barn owl in the corner of the first cage. It’s a large space but the owl perches beside it’s bed box, eyes seemingly closed. Ricky narrows his eyes at it. 

“It’s watching us.” Ricky says. Tinsley laughs a little,

“It’s probably listening.” he answers, then looks down at the fliers again, “it says it’s name is Chip.” he looks up through the crisscrossed wire at it, “Hi Chip!”

Suddenly the owl opens its eyes. Ricky visibly flinches. Tinsley observes this in amusement,

“Make you jump?”

“ _ No _ .” Ricky snaps back with a scowl, “Just… got the shivers for a second. Probably from the wind.”

“Sure.” Tinsley says, he begins to walk away when suddenly the owl takes flight, diving towards the front of the enclosure.

Ricky yelps and jumps back as the bird lands on the wire, talons gripping to it. Large circular brown eyes stare at Ricky and it’s beak chews at the bars. Tinsley starts laughing.

“I knew it!” he says, “You’re scared of ‘em!” 

Eyes narrowed, Ricky turns to him, “No I’m not.” he insists, “It just… caught me off guard.”

Tinsley smiles knowingly, “Riiight…” he says, “Well in that case, you won’t mind accompanying me into the walk in owl experience.”

“The what?” Ricky says. Tinsley delights in the fear in his eyes- he never imagined Ricky could scare. 

“Come on, it’ll be fine.” Tinsley assures, “I’ll even let you hold my hand if you get scared.” To prove the point he holds out his hand. Ricky looks at it, and Tinsley is sure he’s truly contemplating it. Then the man straightens,

“I’m fine.” he insists. “Let’s get this over with.” he passes Tinsley and enters through the wire door. Tinsley follows him in, closing the door firmly shut behind him. 

He finds Ricky frozen two paces into the enclosure. Very high above their heads is a wiry roof, keeping the birds in. And there’s a lot of them. 

“It says here that none of these owls would survive in the wild, so, they’re in here forever. They must get so excited when people come swanning in, something interesting for them.”

Ricky grits his teeth. There are owls everywhere of various colours and sizes- all greys and browns and whites. They’re all facing the two men with beady eyes. Tinsley feels fingers curve around his sleeve and bites back the want to tease the other man. Afraid Ricky is something he could never imagine, and it wouldn’t surprise him if winding him up will turn him into Murder Ricky immediately. So he moves slowly, around the owls. Ricky flinches everytime one starts from a perch or the ground, and his grip tightens, now on Tinsley’s wrist. 

They make their way slowly around the path- Tinsley would have gone quicker if it wasn’t for Ricky being half frozen. 

“Aha!” Tinsley says when he’s halfway around the enclosure, “I can see it, behind that owl.” 

Nailed into the wall to their left is a wooden plaque. They can make out  _ Clue Four  _ but the clue itself is blocked by the owl perching in the way. The owl needs to be moved.

“You do it.” Ricky says at once, dropping his hand and wiping it on his jacket (he’d gotten a little sweaty from the fear, Tinsley’s wrist feels hot and sticky too). 

Tinsley looks back at him. “They won’t hurt you.” he assures, “We wouldn’t be allowed to do this otherwise.”

“Are you sure? Really?” Ricky says, “He could easily take your finger off.”

“I’d have nine more.”

“Actually seven- two of them are thumbs.” Ricky points out.

“You are so-” Tinsley stops himself and takes a breath, “I will make the owl move.” he says, moving forward. 

It’s easy to reach and he tentatively stretches his hand over the railings that mark the pathway, towards the owl. The owl is aware, eyes flitting from Tinsley’s face to Tinsley’s hand. 

“Hey there buddy.” Tinsley says, thinking that it should have been scared off by now, “Just need to read that there sign behind ya…” 

His fingers reach the owl’s grey feathered wing. The owl doesn’t budge. 

“Uh…” Tinsley isn’t sure what to do. How tame  _ is  _ this thing? “Okay, pal, just a little movement would be nice.” he pushes a little more firmly, and instead of flying away, the owl takes one look at Tinsley’s arm and hops on, “Ow.” Tinsley says quietly. Who knew talons were so sharp? “Uh, hello, sir. Ricky are you seeing this?!”

“Unfortunately.” Ricky replies shakily from somewhere behind him. 

“Look in the fliers, what’s its name?!”

“Just read the clue!” Ricky tells him. 

“ _ Fine _ .” Tinsley retorts, “Are you going to write it?” 

“No I- I’ve not got a pen or anything!”

“Then get it out my pocket!” Tinsley says, turning around a tiny bit so his pocket is towards Ricky.

“You do it!”

“In case you haven’t noticed I’m a little preoccupied right now.” Tinsley says, “It’s, it’s in my right pocket, you know, like, on the side the owl is sitting.”

Ricky makes a noise somewhere between a whine and a groan but Tinsley hears the scrape of his boots as he edges forward. He delicately slips his fingers into Tinsley’s right pocket, pulls out the small notebook.

“Okay,” he says in a small voice, “now hurry up read out the clue so we can get the fuck out of here.”

“Fine but you owe me.” Tinsley says.

“ _ What _ ?” Ricky says, aghast, “Owe you what?!”

“A meal. A good one. Somewhere.  _ God  _ I’d kill for a good meal.”

“That can be arranged.” Ricky can’t help but say, “But fine, whatever, I’ll get you some good food, just hurry up.”

Tinsley smiles to himself and reads the clue out:

_ “With both heavy loads and water high, please be careful do not fly.” _

“You got it?” Tinsley asks, hissing as the owls talons move a little further up his arm. 

“Yes.” Ricky replies icily, “You can put that thing down now- ah!”

An owl starts up from the ground behind him, flying right past his ear and zooming up to the top of the enclosure. The noise startles the owl on Tinsley’s arm too, and he takes off in the air as well, relieving Tinsley’s arm of the pain. He sighs in relief.

“My do they have sharp feet, I might be bleeding.” Tinsley says, rolling up his sleeve, “Jesus.” he murmurs as he looks at the small but deep incisions along his arm. Blood beads in them, amongst pink skin. 

“Gross.” Ricky observes, “Now let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Tinsley doesn’t complain this time and briskly walks to the door with Ricky. He glances back, finds the large grey owl perched back in front of the clue and waves a little at it, “Goodbye little buddy!” he says. Ricky drags him out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the temptation to have that owl follow tinsley out so it can form a begruding but loyal friendship with Ricky tbh lol. also fun fact the murder that Tinsley described is stolen from a 'Father Brown' story, like one of the ogs, i think it's the second father brown story chesterton ever wrote?? 
> 
> but yea hope you enjoyed this, it was a much funner chapter than I expected it to be lol i was getting kinda stuck with it but it was nice to have them out of the forest for a little bit


	4. Just Me, You & a Knife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> basically: we start with there-was-only-one-bed and end with a life saved and other lives ended

They find a quaint little country pub in Shylands, of which they bustle into when they find they do indeed serve food. It’s not terribly busy but it’s a reasonably large building. The bar stands in the middle of the room, opposite the door way, seating areas snaking off to both the right and the left. 

They sit down at a table by the window on the left after ordering some drinks. Ricky sighs after taking large gulps of wine. 

“So…” Tinsley starts, “Conquered your fear?”

“Don’t.” Ricky glowers.

“I don’t get it. You’re like… well I  _ thought  _ you were fearless.” 

“When I was seven an enormous blackbird landed on my head, alright? Traumatising.” He looks up from the table to Tinsley grinning, “It’s not funny.”

“No, I know, I know.” he assures, handing the man a menu, “I thought you were very brave today.”

“Don’t patronise me, Tinsley.” Ricky replies as he snatches the menu, “You know I’m actually glad you suggested a good meal out because oh my god the way I’d kill for a roast dinner.” 

“You needn’t kill anyone Ricky.” Tinsley reminds him.

Ricky smiles, a weirdly sweet smile, “The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind.”

A waiter reaches the table and Ricky sends Tinsley a look with sparkling eyes, before giving the man his order. While they wait for their food, Tinsley takes out his notebook to analyse the clue. He frowns at it.

“The fuck does this even say?” he asks Ricky, “Your penmanship leaves a lot to be desired.”

Ricky scowls, and leans forward and snatches the notebook from him. “In my defense I was a little under pressure.” he says, “it says _ With both heavy loads and water high, please be careful do not fly. _ Whatever the fuck that even means. _ ”  _

He hands it back to Tinsley who parrots the clue under his breath. He jots it down in his own writing on a blank page. 

“So a waterfall.” Tinsley says, “And we’ll end up on top of it? Something to do with heights?”

Ricky shrugs, “You’re the expert.” 

Annoyed, Tinsley throws the notebook to the table with a slap, “You could at least  _ try  _ to help.” he says before turning to his bag under the table and rustling about until he pulls out the map. Ricky pushes the salt and pepper shakers to the end of the table so Tinsley can spread the paper across it.

“What are we looking for?” Ricky asks boredly. It’s a zoomed-in map of New Mexico, and is large enough to bend off two sides of the table. 

Tinsley shrugs, eyes tracing the map, “High water seems a good a place to start as any.”

Ricky nods and leans his head on one hand, looking bored but staring at the map nonetheless. “There’s water there.” he says, blotting his finger over a small amount of blue, “And there.” he moves his finger halfway along the table.

Tinsley sighs, “A perfect observation.” he mutters, then snaps his head up at Ricky, “How did you ever expect to win this thing alone?”

Ricky shrugs, “I could do it.” he insists.

Leaning back in his chair, he grins, “ _ Really _ ? Be my guest.” 

Dramatically, Ricky sighs, “The map’s upside down.” Tinsley just looks at him until Ricky turns the map around for himself.

He stares at it blankly for a while, scouring the watery areas, their names, the contour lines that decide if the water is high up. Eventually he points to a small circle above a wiggling line of water.

“How about here?” Ricky suggests, “It’s in some area called the great heights.” 

Tinsley leans forward to look for himself, finding him suddenly close to the other man. He makes a mental note not to look up at him, “It’s a possibility.” he agrees. 

He forgets his mental note about not looking up. Looks up. Ricky’s so close to him. All dark brown eyes and dry pink lips. Tinsley finds himself frozen for a moment. He shouldn’t be thinking the things that cross his mind just then, especially not in a public bar but he can’t really help it. Ricky seems a little caught out too, under a spotlight. He doesn’t even smirk, just stares.

Tinsely clears his throat and sits back against the chair. “Its some days away from here, which makes sense if the locations  _ are  _ getting further apart.”

Ricky nods. Behind his shoulder, Tinsley sees the waiter walking past the bar with two platefuls of steaming roast dinners. Hastily he gathers the map and shoves it into his bag. He is so looking forward to some real food. 

*

Ricky keeps to his agreement and pays for the both of them later in the evening, after they’ve had pudding and more drinks. He carefully counts out the bank notes before placing them on the silver tray, the waiter watching him intently, as if also counting with him.

“Just wondering,” Tinsley starts, “Do you know of any inns, hostels, in town?”

“We have a couple of beds here!” The waiter suggests, “I can ask the owner about availability. Would you require two rooms?” his eyes flit cautiously between the two of them. 

Tinsley glances at Ricky, “Uh… ideally.” he says, “Thanks.”

When the waiter leaves, Ricky eyes him quizzically, “Is this not cheating?” 

Tinsley shrugs, “So is murdering your rivals but you don’t seem to mind about that.”

“There wasn’t actually anything in the information that suggested you couldn’t kill your-”

“I think it goes without saying actually!” Tinsley snaps back. Before Ricky can retort the waiter returns.

“I’m afraid we only have one room available and it’s one double bed.” the waiter tells them.

Tinsley glances at Ricky in alarm, but the man opposite him simply smirks. He turns to the waiter with an unnervingly sweet smile, 

“We’ll take it.” he says, “Thank you, Sir.” and he hands the waiter a hefty tip.

“You pay for the rooms at the bar.”

“Oh I imagine so.” Ricky agrees with a nod, “That’s yours.”

The waiter swallows the surprise, “Thank you.” he says before hurrying off.

Ricky watches him leave with a broad smile and Tinsley watches Ricky,

“You know, for the record, Ricky, I really hate you.”

Ricky doesn’t stop grinning.

*

It’s a decent sized room with a large double bed. At once Tinsley dumps his bags and moves some of the pillows down the centre of the bed.

“What are you doing?” Ricky asks with a frown, “We sleep closer than this in the forests half of the time.” 

Tinsley scowls, “This is different.” he says. Ricky pulls a face.

“How?”

Tinsley opens his mouth but no words come out for a few moments, “I- It- It just is, alright?” Ricky grins. Tinsley can’t decide if he wants more to kiss or to punch that irritating expression away. 

They lie back to back in silence for a while. Tinsley stares at the curtains; they’re a garish ugly yellow and felt uncomfortably soft when he closed them- that material that when rubbed a certain way feels rough and wrong. He’s wondering how on Earth he is going to manage to get any sleep at all, when a noise makes him jump. 

It takes him a moment to realise it was just Ricky’s voice calling his name.

“Mm?” Tinsley responds reluctantly. 

“I… Thank you for uh… not being shitty about you know… the bird thing. Well I mean, you were shitty, but it didn’t feel all that serious so, uh, thank you.”

Tinsley finds he’s smiling to himself and he almost rolls around in the bed to look at the other man. But he doesn’t. “You’re welcome.” is all he says.

Ricky’s never felt more human to him.

He barely sleeps, Tinsley. And when he does drift off he’s awakened by a shout from the bar below, or a bird cooing outside, or Ricky breathing heavily or shuffling slightly in his sleep. 

He turns to look at the shorter man when light eventually begins to seep through the yellow curtains. He stares over the dividing pillows at the back of Ricky’s head, his bare shoulders, the small of his back. He’s not wearing anything but underwear and Tinsley can’t help but imagine gliding a finger along the man’s spine, planting a kiss between his shoulder blades. He grits his teeth and closes his eyes again. 

But he can’t escape the image of Ricky’s skin, how soft, how gentle it seems. 

“Tinsley.”

The detective’s eyes snap back open. Ricky’s still on his side, but he knows it’s him who spoke. “What?” he asks gruffly, voice heavy with the sleep he hasn’t had.

“I can feel you staring.” Ricky says.

“Bullshit.” Tinsley says, sitting up at once, “My eyes were closed.” 

“And yet you seemed to dig into me somehow.” Ricky rolls over to him, “Perhaps your thoughts were loud enough for me to hear.” he smiles. Tinsley slips off the bed, swearing in his head at the brief glance at Ricky’s chest.

“We should get going.” Tinsley says, “Bet everyone’s caught up or overtaken by now.” 

*

By afternoon they are back into the thick of the forest. Mist clings to trees and the two men feel almost as though they are bathing in it. Ricky is mostly silent, and it’s rather unnerving, Tinsley feels, to have no clue what the man is thinking. 

They fish, again, for lunch. Well, Ricky fishes and Tinsley starts a fire, casting his gaze through the trees to watch the short man, through the fog, stab at the lake, sleeves of his beige shirt rolled, along with the cuffs of his brown trousers. 

It’s not as good as the trout they’d had about a week ago (has it been that long? In Tinsley’s head, time has become a blur), but it’s food and it’s fine. Besides if Tinsley were to complain he’s sure Ricky would make him regret it. 

They set off again in silence. The mist feels as though choking them and Tinsley doesn’t know what to say. Ricky seems almost far away.

When Ricky does speak, it catches Tinsley off guard, and even a pigeon darts up from a tree.

“A small island off the English coast, that’s where I’m from.” he says. Tinsley looks at him, mildly bemused.

“But your accent...”

Ricky shrugs, “My Father moved from America.” he says, and after a hesitant moment, adds, “He’s rather influential.”

“I’ve no doubt.” Tinsley says, stepping up over a rocky bit of path. Tinsley can feel Ricky glance at him and it makes the whole forest feel on fire. It makes the ring on his finger feel hot on his skin. He keeps climbing up the rocks and tries not to think.

*

The leafy ground is hard, compared to the previous night’s bed. It’s colder too. Ricky, beside him, is restless; tossing, turning, grunting. Halfway through the night, Tinsley catches himself running a rough finger around his ring, and he slides it off and lifts it up above his head. He looks at the stars through it; his own personal telescope. But it all looks so far away. Stars like specs of dust, the sky as distant and as dark as space.

He sleeps brokenly and awakens with the birds. He doesn’t stir, though, stares at the ground in the cool, fresh morning light, the leaves underneath him. In the distance he spies a rabbit, furrowing around the leaves, snuffling. He watches it silently until Ricky stirs beside him, sits up. 

The rabbit scarpers. Tinsley closes his eyes again. He can hear Ricky sigh and rustle in his bag. Leaves crunch under his feet. When the steps die away, Tinsley turns around to face the ground where Ricky had lain. His bag lies, closed, on it’s side. Tinsley sighs. Closes his eyes once more.

He must have drifted to sleep, because he starts awake at the sound of clashing metal, a gentle and repetitive scrape. He squints his eyes open. They land on Ricky’s legs, crossed, right in front of him, and his hands, one scraping a smooth stone carefully up the edge of his knife. Should he be worried? Is this a threat? Ricky’s so close to him. 

Before Ricky can be alerted to him being awake, Tinsley darts up, at him, pushing Ricky to the ground. The man grunts underneath him, and when Tinsley’s eyes adjust and settle wide open, he finds that Ricky’s own are sparkling. 

Somehow, Tinsley had grabbed the knife. Did he mean to do that? He doesn't remember. But he finds himself pressing it against Ricky’s throat, his free hand gripping at the man's chest, tightly. He can feel Ricky’s heart beat, heavy and fast, his chest heaving up and down. But he’s not scared.

He’s laughing.

“Come on then. Come on.” 

His eyes are dancing into Tinsley’s own, coaxing, teasing, begging. His lips have fallen into a wide crazed grin and Tinsley hasn’t the faintest knowledge of what to do now.

“What are you waiting for? Wouldn’t it just solve all of your problems, if you just did it? Go onnn. Do it, Tinsley. Do it. Kill me.” 

He licks his lips and Tinsley gulps. His hair has fallen a little over his eyes but he can still see Ricky beneath him, grinning with his eyes like something inhuman. He doesn’t understand this man. Hell, he doesn't understand himself. 

He throws the knife away, behind him, and he hears it land a little way off in the leaves. For a moment he doesn’t move, continues to stare down at Ricky, all close to him and frankly glowing with delight. Then he loosens his grip on Ricky’s chest, holds his eyes one last time, and pushes himself off of him. 

“Disappointing.” Ricky says, still lying on the ground, “The look in your eye… thought you really might have done it.”

“Shut up, Ricky.” Tinsley mutters, “Let's just get ready.”

Ricky pushes himself up, “I’ve been ready.” he says, “Waiting for Sleeping Beauty to awaken.”

“Sure that’s what you were doing.” Tinsley mutters, hand trembling over his bag straps. He catches sight of the ring.  _ God _ , he thinks,  _ what would she think of him right now? _

“You think I was preparing to kill you?” Ricky asks with a quirk of his lips. He’s standing over Tinsley now, bag on his back, knife retrieved from the leaves and slipped back onto his belt. 

“You were sitting right over me, forgive me for assuming.” Tinsley says, gathering himself, standing. 

Ricky just looks at him, a smile still tugging at his lips. Tinsley isn’t sure what’s worse: the fact Ricky can’t stop smiling, or the fact that Tinsley doesn’t really  _ want  _ him to stop. 

“Why would I kill you now?” Ricky says, “You’re still of use to me.”

Tinsley meets his eyes and finds himself swallowing a little. Is there even a version of this treasure hunt where he makes it out alive? And if he makes it out alive, how much of himself will he truly have left?

It’s a tense morning and Tinsley’s head feels as grey and clouded as the sky. His heart still feels frantic and his mind keeps pulling him back to the way Ricky was grinning, pulling him to use the knife. What has he become?

*

There’s a blur of days. Of misty, clouded skies and tall, damp trees. Of chewy meats and bony fish, the occasional berries. They keep climbing higher everyday. Every so often, when the trees clear they catch sight of the view, trees like heads at a crowded gathering bobbing down below. Like an inauguration day, Tinsley considers. 

Sometimes, they talk. Ricky mentions his little island again, his large family, his mother. And Tinsley, slowly, in turn, mentions his older sister, his own mother and seemingly non-existent father. They wash in streams and under small waterfalls, taking it in respectful turns. 

One evening, Tinsley returns to their place of camp with firewood while Ricky’s still bathing beneath a small, sprinkling water pouring from the sheltering rocks above. Ricky doesn’t notice Tinsley standing there at first, instead faces the rocky wall. And Tinsley can’t help but lose himself for a moment, tightening his grip on the wood in his arms as he watches the man.

When Ricky turns and catches his eyes, Tinsley’s cheeks are set aflame. Everything all feels so hot, suddenly, that Tinsley thinks they should no longer even need a fire to keep them warm. And he’s too relieved to feel surprised or confused, when Ricky doesn’t bring it up even once. 

*

“We’re nearly at your so-called Great Heights.” Tinsley announces a little over a day later. The sun’s bleeding out through the fog today and Tinsley has to keep wiping his forehead. 

“Don’t say it like that.” Ricky says.

“Like what?” Tinsley asks, feigning innocence and failing to shelter a grin,

“Like you don’t trust my guesses. You either want me to help or you don’t.” he continues to walk a little ahead while Tinsley trails with the map.

“I’m glad of your help.” Tinsley argues, “I’m just saying. You may have solved the thing but you don’t exactly put effort into navigation.” he runs a little to catch up with him, before folding the map back up, “you’d be lost without me.” 

Ricky gives him a side glance and an honest smile tugs at his lips, one he fails to hide, “That’s why you’re alive.” he says, but the words are so gentle it is almost as though they mean another thing entirely. 

*

The Great Heights are certainly ‘great’ in size. Water can be heard not far away from them, gushing and clattering against rock. Ricky suggests following the sound but, as Tinsley points out, it sounds as though it is coming from every direction at once. 

They follow Tinsley’s compass through the trees and the rushing water grows closer. They come out onto a cliff path, trees one side, tall above them, a long drop to ground the other. It makes Tinsley feel a little dizzy.

The drop ends at a rushing river below. 

“We just gotta follow it and we’ll finally be there, right?” Ricky checks, powering his way up the path like there isn’t a literal sheer drop to certain death on one side of it. 

Tinsley treads carefully after him, “Hopefully.” he says, “What did the clue mean… heavy loads?” 

Ricky shrugs, “All our equipment and heavy bags? Maybe it’s just a red herring, who cares?”

Tinsley pulls a bemused face but shrugs, “And the… do not fly… I mean flying’s not even-  _ arghh _ .”

Ricky turns on his heel to find Tinsley gone, aside from a hand clinging to the path, his body dangling off the side of the cliff. Tinsley’s knuckles are white and his fingers red from his desperate grip at the dirt path. His legs flail and scrabble against the rock below. He’s sort of got a small jutting out piece of rock to stand on but it’s wobbly and ready to crumble under his weight. He grunts, attempting to throw his other arm up at the path but failing to grip at anything. 

“Ricky…”

Warm, soft skin grabs at his hand on the pathway.

“How the fuck did you even-” Ricky’s hurried voice. Tinsley manages to look up, finding Ricky’s head peering down at him, eyes wide, his other hand reaching down at him. 

Tinsley tries not to think about how Ricky could just as easily push him off, as pull him up, and throws his loose hand up at Ricky, who catches it smoothly. 

“Come  _ on _ .” Ricky backs up and Tinsley can’t see his head anymore. He’s got a grip on Tinsley’s hand, so tight that he feels as if his fingers are breaking. He’s moving though. 

Just as the small piece of rock gives way under his left foot, Ricky hauls him up by his rucksack. Tinsley doesn’t hear the piece of rock land in the water, and instead heaves a loud sigh as he flops atop Ricky’s body on the path. 

He lies there, catching his breath, feeling Ricky’s hammering heart beneath him as fast as his own, feeling Ricky’s quick breath on his forehead, hot and damp. When finally, he looks up at Ricky’s face, the shorter man has his eyes closed. 

He  _ saved  _ him. Ricky actually  _ saved  _ him. 

Tinsley flops his head back against Ricky’s chest, not strong enough to lift himself up yet. He was preparing to see life flash before his eyes, he was wondering what he’d feel first- water or rock. He thought that was it.

Ricky’s fingers are still entwined with his left hand and for a moment Tinsley lets himself feel it- smooth, hot skin wrapped with his own. He can feel the back of Ricky’s hand under his own fingers, and as he slowly rips their hands apart he strokes his fingers across his skin, making a point to remember it. Ricky’s hands: gentle enough, soft enough to kill. 

“Thank you.” he says as he finally rolls off of him, lying on his side, aware, still, of the bag on his back. Ricky doesn’t move for a while, breathes up at the sky. Tinsley pushes off his bag and lies next to him, stares at the grey clouds gathering. They’ve been lucky with the lack of rain so far. It can only hold out so long, he thinks. 

“‘S’alright.” Ricky replies, turning his head to him. He smirks a little, “How would I ever win without you, hmm?” 

Tinsley turns and meets Ricky’s eyes, not hiding the smile that slips across his mouth. He lets out a breath of a laugh, “Unbelievable.  _ Unbelievable _ , Ricky, I saw how panicked you looked!”

“Lies. Slander.” Ricky says, but his tone is a little sarcastic, Tinsley thinks. He watches as Ricky stands up; a movement swift and elegant, “it’s like you think I care about you.” but he holds out a hand and hauls Tinsley back to his feet.

The momentum has Tinsley stumble a little, but he accentuates it for effect and falls slightly against Ricky, making their noses bump. He distinctly hears the breath in Ricky’s throat catch, finds himself smirking. 

“As if Ricky Goldsworth would ever  _ care _ .” Tinsley says, lending a smile and an underlying tease to the words before moving away again. 

“Exactly.” Ricky replies, picking his bag up from where he’d tossed it to the ground when Tinsley fell, “Come on, you’ve delayed us far too long already.” 

Although he doesn’t storm so much ahead, and whenever Tinsley goes quiet, or a stone rolls along the path, he glances back, just to check on him. 

Barely a few metres from the little slip Tinsley had taken, they see the waterfall. It pulls the two sides of forest together like a grand bridge. The water crashes. Tinsley knew he should have brought with him his camera, for views like this, but he’d have only damaged it by now, and it’s far too good to lose. 

The closer they get, the more clearly they can make out two figures sitting happily beside the waterfall, legs dangling over the rock face.

“How’d they beat us?” Ricky demands at once, his speed picking up.

“Ricky...” Tinsley starts with a sigh, cautiously hurrying after him, keeping as near to the trees as possible. 

“Bet they cheated. Got a fucking cab.” he’s quite literally marching. Tinsley grabs his shoulder but it doesn’t slow him down, just means Tinsley has to pick up his own speed. 

“Perhaps they walk faster than us. Or set up camp later. Got up earlier.” Tinsley poses, “They may have only been here five minutes!”

They reach the waterfall. Water splashes loud enough to warrant the need for shouting. The two girls sitting at the edge are laughing, barely noticing Ricky and Tinsley reach them. The waterfall is sheltered by rocks, covering the top end of the river like a bridge. It’s so loud that the girls do not hear Ricky ask them when they’d arrived. 

And before Tinsley can point out the noise factor, Ricky’s clearly run out of patience. Before Tinsley can even attempt to pull him back, Ricky’s shoved them both, each with one hand, off of the rocks. Unlike the pile of rock before, this time, Tinsley does hear the splash. And the screams. 

When Tinsley opens his eyes, Ricky’s brushing his hands together like he just took care of some particularly grimy DIY. 

“What is your  _ problem,  _ Ricky?” Tinsley demands, drawing closer to him and tentatively peering over the edge. Thankfully, he can’t see anyone. He turns back to the shorter man, “They didn’t deserve that!”

“They cheated!” Ricky retorts at once.

“Oh and you just didn’t?” 

Ricky says nothing but holds Tinsley’s gaze. Tinsley doesn’t get it. One minute he’s saving someone, the next he’s killing two others. 

“Why? Why, really?” The water is drowning his words but he knows Ricky heard them anyway.

Ricky looks at him, eyes unchanging, still, non-blinking, “I have to win, Tinsley. Don’t you see? I have to!”

“And they were a threat, were they?” Tinsley says, gesturing to the river below them with one outstretched arm. 

“They get here five minutes before us, they can get to the treasure five minutes before us and then that’s it, isn’t it?” Ricky says. With that he sets away and sits behind the waterfall, watching where the lake feeds into the rock from behind. He picks up some pebbles that had been spat out of the river and stares at them. 

Tinsley watches him from a few metres away. The waterfall is just as loud as before but in his head, all is muffled now. One minute Ricky could save a life. Could hold a hand in gentle bronze skin. Every part of him, soft enough to kiss. And then the next minute, Ricky is something else. Ruthless and angry and his hands…

But it doesn’t… it doesn’t matter, in Tinsley’s head, because Ricky’s hands… even with the deaths they’ve caused… he still wants to hold them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope this doesn’t get too samey bc it’s like *camp fire* *murder* *clue* and repeat lol. i’m trying to make it a bit different i swear. also i’m aware of the lack of women and i hate that lmao (like francesca norris and holly maybe, will be in a potential sequel so)


	5. I’m a Spark - You’re a Boom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is 80% tinsley pining and 20% tinsley going feral i think

After staring at Ricky sulking by the river for too long, Tinsley looks around him, wondering what to do. The girls are long gone but he feels like he should check for unwanted evidence, anything they may have left- there were no bags with them, but there must be something somewhere.

He finds them in the verge, at the edge of the path, two large rucksacks, being hugged by the grass below the trees. Tinsley drags them out and crouches down to them, opening them up. He rifles through them quickly, removes the food (sandwiches, a white paper bag of small chocolates), the matches. He takes out a torch and tests it, and, satisfied, removes that too. 

Then he lifts them both, steps over to the edge, and hauls the bags over it. He watches them fall until he feels a bit dizzy and jerks back. The sound of them landing is drowned by the rushing water. He moves away, gathering the food and ambling over to Ricky. 

He throws two of the sandwiches, wrapped in paper, at the man’s lap and drops the bag chocolates down beside him, before sitting himself down. 

“Eat.” Tinsley says, when he’s sat and unwrapping his own sandwiches, “And stop sulking like a child.”

Ricky’s still watching him though, Tinsley can feel his eyes glaring into him, up and down. Incredulous. 

“I don’t _ get  _ you.” he says eventually, tone more wondrous than confused, or sulky. He looks away and rustles with the sandwiches.

“I know.” Tinsley says, but he means  _ me neither _ . 

More people begin to arrive while they’re eating and Tinsley glances at them every so often, wondering if they knew the two young women. His stomach churns but he ignores it, reaches towards the packet beside him for one of the small chocolates inside, only for his hand to brush another. 

He can’t help it, the way he whips his head around to look at Ricky. As their eyes meet, Ricky at once pulls his hand back, leaving Tinsley feeling quite as though his fingers are burning.

“After you.” Ricky says, warmly, the words, his accent, like butter, rich and smooth. Tinsley obliges, but his hand shakes slightly inside the small bag and he doesn’t even really want the chocolate anymore. He eats it anyway, feeling small and all kinds of fucked up, under the other man’s gaze. 

“Excuse me.” 

Tinsley looks up. A middle aged woman stands above him with a sharp jawline and long blonde hair tied back behind her in a ponytail. Both her hands clutch at the straps of her rucksack. 

“Yes?” Tinsley starts. 

The woman smiles but it presses her lips into a thin line, “you haven’t seen two girls… around here? In their twenties, average height, one light skinned, one brown skinned… we left them here.”

Before Tinsley has time to decide how to convincingly lie, Ricky’s already answering.

“Not seen them.” he says smoothly, stretching his arms back behind him. Tinsley tries not to simply stare- at arms, at chest, at anything- and looks back up at the woman with a small innocent smile. 

“Well… they were here.” the woman says. 

“Not when we arrived. Thought we won.” continues Ricky.

“Hardly won.” the woman says with a slight laugh, “we’re barely halfway.”

Ricky’s jaw tenses a little, all his false nicety disappearing at once. Tinsley looks alarmed up at the woman.

“I’m really sorry we can’t be of more help.” he rushes before Ricky can say something stupid, “I’m sure they’ll turn up, perhaps they just went for a walk.”

The woman presses her lips together, and before she can speak, there’s a shout by the waterfall. The small group are gathered, peering over the edge.

“Holly!” one of them calls and the woman in front of Ricky and Tinsley slowly backs away from them and over to the group. 

Ricky glances at Tinsley, “Their fucking bags, I bet they’ve seen the bags.”

Tinsley shrugs, “It was- the bags should’ve got taken with the water. Unless they hit the rocks and not-”

Ricky stands abruptly, “Idiot.” he mutters, “why would they fall  _ with  _ their bags?”

Tinsley opens his mouth then closes it. Okay so maybe he didn’t really think about this. He should have, really he should have. Only his train of thought went more along the lines of “completely disappeared and got lost” rather than “fell off the edge”, which, given the circumstances probably would have been more plausible. He reluctantly follows Ricky over to the group of people, trying to be surprised, concerned, upset. But he can feel Holly watching him, and Ricky too. This isn’t good. 

Fenn’s assistant makes a timely entrance, appearing through the path and crossing the rock bridge over the waterfall. 

“How is everyone?!” he greets, pauses when he catches everyone’s forlorn and distressed faces. His whole demeanor withers. “What…”

*

It’s amusing, Tinsley can’t help but think; the way the assistant pales and panics and paces back and forth. Every so often he stops and asks one of them,  _ are you sure _ ? But there is little doubt here and Tinsley really shouldn’t find it so entertaining. 

Ricky jabs him in the ribs when he catches the smile slipping onto his face. And he tries to regain himself when another small group arrive, looking utterly clueless and confused. 

“Look whatever, so sad they fell, but I’m sure they’d like us to continue.” Ricky says eventually, his impatience getting the better of him, “We all need to move on, now.” he meets Holly’s eyes, his smile golden and rich with false sadness. She glares back.

It’s Tinsley’s turn to jab Ricky in the ribs. 

“Well… I suppose I shall give you the next clue and then go in search of help at once.” the assistant decides, clasping his hands together. 

This is met with disagreement among the women’s friends.

“You can’t continue like nothing happened!”

“Don’t they mean anything to you?!”

“We should at least take a day.”

Meanwhile Holly is still watching Ricky and Tinsley closely and honestly it’s making the detective rather uncomfortable. Finally she turns away,

“I think we should continue.” Holly decides, her friends eyeing her in confusion, “We keep fighting this thing, we win, all in their names, to Charlie and Jan.” 

The group look spirited, uplifted and all murmur  _ to Charlie and Jan _ . Tinsley and Ricky glance at each other. It feels like they’re about to set off to war.

*

“This is all your fucking fault.” Ricky complains as the tread carefully down through the next bundle of forest. They’re losing height quickly, as Ricky insisted on using the ‘shortcut’ and not the path, the leaves thus under foot all slippy and slidey. Both of them keep low to the ground. 

“ _ My fault _ ?!” Tinsley echoes, slipping slightly in the leaves and grabbing at the ground for balance. “ _ You  _ pushed them!”

“Shhh.” Ricky hisses, “Not so loud you moron.”

“Moron?” Tinsley retorts, “None of this would be happening if it weren’t for you. I’d be on some nice, easy path, probably with that nice group of people and instead here I am fucking- kamikaziing off of a cliff.”

“Not a cliff and we don’t have a kamikaze Tinsley.” Ricky points out, jumping over a fallen tree and skidding down a small stretch of hill. He even makes falling fucking elegant, like he’s surving the leaves like a professional. “You’re so dramatic.”

“ _ I’m _ dramatic?” Tinsley snaps back, “Oh that’s a new low- excuse the pun.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ricky demands, slipping through the low branches and marching over tree roots to reach him. 

“Well I just-” Tinsley gestures to him vaguely, up and down, “Dramatic  _ and  _ short.” 

Before he knows it Ricky’s charging into him, wrestling him to the ground and sending them both rolling- more bumping, down the rest of the hill. This is particularly uncomfortable with rucksacks digging into their backs- tinsley can feel one of his tin food bowls pressing into him as they roll, and roll, until they stop when the ground momentarily evens out.

Underneath him, Ricky is panting, the upper half of his body raised from the ground because of the bag on his back. Tinsley feels too heavy to move and he feels the heaving of Ricky’s chest and the hand digging into his side. Their legs are tangled like tree branches and well-

“God I hate you.” Tinsley murmurs, lifting his head to look up at Ricky’s jaw. This isn’t the first time today that he’s lied on top of Ricky like this and well, there is only so much a man can take.

“Really?” Ricky asks with a smirk, looking down at him, “because my inferences tell me you rather enjoy my company.” his eyes slip down his body a little.

Tinsley rises at once, as if burnt by the words, “Don’t be ridiculous.” he says, and sits back against the nearest tree, “How about we stop here and work out where we’re actually going before gallivanting off any further in the wrong direction.” 

Ricky rolls his eyes but crawls through the leaves towards him. Tinsley focuses on opening out the map, doesn’t even flinch when Ricky’s head leans against his arms, lips pressing onto his clothes as he continues to catch his breath, heavily, hotly. 

_ To reach the clay you must cross at the use tray. But close to the gold, are you nay. _

Tinsley scours the map blankly but he’s not entirely sure what he’s looking for, can’t think. Ricky’s warm next to him, against him, even.

“Use tray is an anagram right?” Ricky says eventually, “Pretty fucking poor one too, makes no sense.”

“Right.” Tinsley says, looking down at the notebook in Ricky’s hands. He doesn’t remember handing it to him, but he must have done. “Use tray, use tray…”

Ricky looks up at him with a smile on his lips and a glisten in his eyes, “Estuary.” He says, then sits up, “Am I wrong?”

There’s a beat as Tinsley stares at the words, then up at Ricky, “No.” he says finally. Ricky smirks and snaps the notebook shut,

“Great!” he says, “so we’re looking for more water huh. And what do you think about the clay, could be about clay pigeon shooting perhaps, or clay ground, a mine maybe...” he’s leaning forward to gaze at the map, over Tinsley’s arm. 

The detective clears his throat, “Yes.” he says, “Possibly any of those.”

Ricky turns and smiles sweetly at him. It feels real for a moment and something in Tinsley’s chest  _ pulls _ . He swallows and looks away, tries to think.

*

There’s a clay mine a few days away and Tinsley decides it must be the place. Quite a difference to a gold mine, he thinks too which accounts for the whole- not close to the gold- thing. They walk quickly and quietly all day.

Ricky’s started to treat it like an actual race, a speed walking one, and Tinsley keeps having to jog briefly to catch up with him. He’s exhausted by the time it’s dark and they get the fire going in the evening. 

“You alright?” Tinsley asks eventually, “You seem more… impatient than usual.” 

“I’m gonna kill her.” Ricky says as if it’s an answer to the question, “Holly. When I see her I’m gonna kill her.” 

“Ricky…” 

“But she’s smart.” he continues as if not hearing Tinsley at all, “Have to catch her off guard, persuade her to be led away on her own… you could charm her.” Ricky suggests, looking over at Tinsley.

“You charm her!” he snaps back, “I’m not helping you kill her. Too many people are dead already.” 

“But she’ll ruin everything!” Ricky snaps, “She actually  _ needs  _ to die.” 

“You’re ridiculous. Just charm her yourself if you must.”

“I don’t think I could.” Ricky says, then stares into the fire, “Don’t think i could charm a woman at all. Even if it’s fake.” 

“But you think I could?” Tinsley checks, his voice dragging Ricky’s eyes back over to him. 

“Can’t you?” 

“That’s quite besides the point.” Tinsley says, “Man or woman I’m not charming them for you to- do whatever you want to do to them, no.” 

Ricky rolls his eyes, “Well it’s a shame, Tins.” he says, laying down where he sits, his bag as a pillow, “We could make quite the team.” 

That, Tinsley thinks, is besides the point also. 

He lies down too, facing Ricky’s back and resisting the urge to run his fingers down the fabric of Ricky’s shirt (he’s removed the brown leather jacket, hung it on the nearest branch), the urge to stroke along the collar. 

“Why do you need to win this so bad?” he asks, “Will daddy be mad?”

“Not your business.” Ricky replies, quietly, as though through a yawn. 

It kind of is, Tinsley thinks, but he doesn’t say so. Instead he loosely reaches his hand over to Ricky, his sleeve betraying him and scraping through the leaves, before he loosely touches the cotton. 

“If you’re going to touch me then act like you mean it.” he hears Ricky murmur suddenly, making him jolt in surprise. 

“I wasn’t going to.” Tinsley lies and pulls his hand back. He closes his eyes and wonders what would happen if he did touch him, run fingers down his spine, make him shiver. Draw closer to him, touch his shoulder, down his arm, kiss his shirt collar and make him turn around. Make their lips meet. It would be slow and warm, Tinsley imagines, and then slow and hot, enough to melt his ring, no doubt. Remould it, remould every part of him.

A terrible thought to fall asleep to.

*

A few days go by. The clouds have broken and sun streams, hot, through the trees and the rare moments of hill or rock where no leaves can shade them. On the third afternoon they cross the estuary. It opens into a vast lake between two halves of forest, water lapping up at tree roots. 

At the foot of the lake, on the shore in the dirt is a boat, ready for them. It’s tied to a rope which, in turn, stretches out across the water to the otherside. 

“A pulley system.” Ricky says with a frown, “What a shame it would be if we accidentally cut the rope.” he adds, throwing his bag into the tiny rowing boat. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ricky, we need to lay low for a while, how would we do that if we sabotage everyone else. We can’t make ourselves look even more guilty, now come on.” Tinsley’s already pulled the rope so the boat sits, rocking on the water, and is now sat inside, “I’ll go without you.”

Ricky rolls his eyes but marches forward and clambers in. He helps Tinsley pull the rope so the boat moves across. Either side of the lake, water pours out and back through the trees in running rivers. Tinsley watches as Ricky gazes at them, something so gently in awe- the look on his face- and Tinsley’s heart can’t quite catch itself in time. 

Of course Ricky turns and grins at him, then grunts and heaves a little harder with the rope, just so Tinsley has to stare a little more. He’s not watching behind him as the boat bumps up onto the dirt the otherside of the lake, and the jolt takes him by surprise. Ricky laughs and Tinsley ignores him, clambers out. Ricky follows suit, carrying both bags, one in each hand.

“What are you doing?” Ricky asks, watching Tinsley go over to the rope, “Don’t pull it! Leave the boat here.”

“I was going to put it back for the next people.”

“No! It wastes our time and saves theirs.” He throws Tinsley’s back so it lands with a loud clatter of the equipment inside. “Now come on.”

“Careful!” Tinsley scolds, picking the bag up, “There’s an expensive torch in there.”

“Oh your stolen one?” Ricky asks, voice light. He throws his head behind him from where he’s treading back up the bank into the trees to grin. Tinsley purses his lips in defeat, “There’s something wonderfully ironic about you, Detective.” 

“Wonderful?” Tinsley parrots, catching up with him. Ricky smiles,

“Yes, wonderful.” then he stares at the ground for a couple of paces before adding in a stiff murmur, “Other adjectives are available.” Tinsley can’t help the small laugh that escapes.

*

By nightfall they’re beside a fire again, lying near each other, close enough to touch but not. Still Tinsley imagines what it might be like if he did touch Ricky. What it would be like if Ricky kissed him. Embarrassingly enough, he’s thought about asking- asking Ricky to kiss him- wants to know how he would. If he would. 

But he doesn’t touch Ricky. And Ricky doesn’t kiss him. He sleeps and dreams about what could be.

When he wakes up- to avid bird song above his head- Ricky’s gone, although that’s fairly normal now. He usually comes back with food, and (animal) blood on some part of him. At first, when the leaves shuffle, Tinsley thinks it’s just Ricky returning. Only, usually, Ricky speaks on return, so Tinsley knows it’s him. And if he doesn’t speak he at least whistles.

But this time Ricky is quiet. And Tinsley has a growing feeling it isn’t Ricky at all. His bag is behind him and he can hear the sound of the clips being parted with a click, the swish of the fabric as it’s opened. The rustling inside. He wishes he slept with a knife beside him now, like Ricky does. Tinsley always laughed at him for being paranoid. 

After counting to three, Tinsley turns quickly, pounces on the person, sending them crashing to the floor. It’s not Ricky. And he was half expecting Holly but it isn’t her either. It’s a man. White skinned with black hair. His blue eyes are wide, shocked. Before Tinsley really knows what he’s doing he’s pressing his hands into the man’s neck and watching the colour drain from his face.

“Ricky!” he manages to shout, “Ricky! Ricky!” 

The man struggles beneath him, writhes. Tinsley shoves his hands a little harder against the man’s neck, 

“Who sent you?” he hisses, “Did Holly send you?”

The man desperately tries to shake his head, “I- I don’t- Holly… who?”

Thinsley couldn’t even answer this if he wanted to, and before he can demand any more answers, he hears Ricky hurrying through the leaves.

“What is i-” Ricky stops, “What do you need me for?” he asks, “kill him, you’re right there.”

The man’s gasping uselessly for hair. Tinsley looks up.

“I  _ can’t _ .” he says. 

Ricky rolls his eyes, “Christ’s sake.” he mutters. He goes over to their dead little fire and grabs an unburnt log. 

Before the man can even begin to protest the log hits him in the head, once, twice, and again until Tinsley loses count and lifts his hands from the man’s neck. They’re covered in spots and spatters of blood, but not quite so much as his face is, or the man’s face, even. Tinsley can barely tell that it had once been someone’s face. It’s more blood than white skin. He’s never seen a nose so broken. He doesn’t even want to start on the skull, the forehead. 

Ricky throws the log to the ground behind him, making Tinsley look up. 

“Happy now?” Ricky asks. 

Out of breath, Tinsley looks back down at the man, his neck, mainly, the bruises there, before hurriedly standing up. Ricky may have struck the final blows, but he did this. 

“Come on, we better get a move on, expect someone heard your racket.” Ricky mutters, grabbing his bag from the floor.

“What about breakfast?” Tinsley asks.

“You’ve scared every food source for a mile I expect.” Ricky replies, “Now get your bag and let’s go.”

“But I- erm.”

Ricky pauses, “What.” he says.

“My hands.” he gestures to the blood on them, “I’m not getting this on my  _ bag _ . The evidence will be there forever.” 

“Oh jesus Christ.” Ricky mutters, striding back over and picking up Tinsley’ bag, “Hold out your arms.”

Tinsley does as he is told and lets Ricky slip the bag straps through one arm and then the other, like one of those games where the column buzzes if the ring touches the side of it. 

“There’s a stream not so far from here, I could hear it while looking for food, come on.” Ricky mutters when the bag is safely on Tinsley’s shoulders and his hot hands have reached up and patted the straps in place (all thoroughly necessary Tinsley is sure). 

Trying not to put his hands anywhere, Tinsley follows after him, leaving a body by a fire. Put there by his own hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed this one! we find out stuff abt both their pasts next chapter 👀


	6. When There’s Blood In The Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not much happens in this one plot wise but we learn a lot i think. hope you enjoy.
> 
> trigger warnings: implied homophobic bullying and outing

Ricky leads him to a small spring, water tumbling into it from the rocks above- a miniature waterfall. There are rocks jutting out the water in places too, the water clear enough to see the bottom. It’s shallow, only just above a foot deep and a couple of meters wide. Tinsley bends to the edge of the water at once and rubs his hands free of the blood that is now drying in the cracks of his palms, under his nails. 

It spreads out into the water, swirling and mixing pink before fading to nothing. When his hands are clean he shrugs off his bag and steps into the spring, cupping water into his hands to wash his face, too. While he’s bending down, water splashes over him.

He looks up, over at Ricky standing beside him in the water, smirking. 

“Unbelievable.” Tinsley says, before drawing his own hands through the water and launching it over at Ricky. 

Ricky splashes back at once, and then Tinsley retaliates and then Ricky until it feels as if more water is flying through the air than is in the actual spring. 

“Tinsley.” Ricky says, in a laugh that makes Tinsley’s name sound like more than he’s ever heard it before, “Please, come  _ on- _ ah!” he splashes back and Tinsley’s laughing too.

He’s wet all over. He thinks there’s still blood on his face but he can’t find it in him to care. 

“Ricky!” he steps forward, over a rock to throw up water from another angle. And he slips. Lands with a splash against the side of a rock jutting out the water. Now there doesn’t feel as if an inch of him is dry. 

Ricky’s still laughing when he exclaims, “Oh, shit, careful.”

“I’m fine.” Tinsley says, but takes Ricky’s hand and stumbles as he’s pulled up. They’re still giggling, caught between adrenaline and something else, hands still held, wet and soft. Water drips from their hair, from their faces and lands in the water around them in small mixed up droplets. Tinsley moves away from Ricky’s face only a little, only enough to see water slide from his nose without the close up of his vision going blurry. They’re both grinning. 

It’s the most human Tinsley has ever seen Ricky grin. 

Suddenly, more water comes pattering, through the cracks in the leaves straight above them where the sun once was. Over their hair that’s already too wet for either of them to care. They both look up, through the gap in the trees at the sky, their chins almost touching. They would touch, if Ricky was taller. Water spatters over their faces.

The clouds must have crept up suddenly. They watch the rain fall upon them, and when Tinsley grows bored he watches Ricky watch the rain fall upon them. At this angle Tinsley can mostly see his chin, his lips, for his head is tipped back. There’s a relaxed and easy grin on his face like he’s seeing rain for the first time and Tinsley… 

Tinsley can’t fight it. 

Ricky looks down, feeling his gaze or hearing, maybe, Tinsley drawing a breath. 

“Rain’s kind of beautiful, right?” 

Tinsley doesn’t reply, not with words, anyway. If he did reply he might have said that he could think of other, more beautiful things. Or he might have said that Ricky’s talking nonsense, that rain is wet and messy and inconvenient and that is all. But he doesn’t say anything, and Ricky stops grinning when he realises. 

Tinsley doesn’t say anything. Instead, he leans down and kisses him. 

Slow. Like a lake with barely a ripple on the surface. Tinsley’s hands find Ricky’s cheeks as he kisses him deeper, pulling him closer and kissing him a little faster. Ricky sighs out of his nose and pushes air over Tinsley’s face, still crusted with blood that isn’t his own. 

His heart is beating so fast that his head can barely keep up. Ricky’s kissing him back like he’s more beautiful than the rain. Fuck the rain, Tinsley thinks, it doesn’t matter. What matters is how soft Ricky’s lips are, dampened, probably by spring water, by rainwater. One of his hands pulls at the ends of Tinsley’s hair and it makes Tinsley’s mouth slip open with a slight gasp. 

Ricky licks into his mouth and only then, only then when the shiver sparks down his spine, does Tinsley rip himself away. Water splashes under his feet as he stumbles back. 

“I can’t.” he says, voice hoarse, voice quiet.

“What?” Ricky says. Tinsley doesn’t know if he heard and doesn’t like what he heard, or if he didn’t hear at all so he repeats it, clearly, this time, looking up from his morphed reflection of himself in the water to Ricky’s eyes.

“I  _ can’t _ .” 

With that he turns and splashes his way, loudly, from the spring, grimacing at all the water in his boots when he steps back into the leaves. It’s still raining, harder, if anything. 

“Why not?” Ricky demands from where he still stands in the middle of the spring. 

Tinsley opens his mouth then closes it again. Picks up his bag. As he wrestles with twisted straps on his shoulders, Ricky says,

“Because you’re married.”

Tinsley freezes. Looks at him.“What?”

“Is that not your wedding ring? I catch you gazing at it sometimes.”

On instinct Tinsley lowers his hands, covers the ringed one with the other, like shielding it from the scene. Eleanor doesn’t need to see this. 

“I’m not married.” he says. It’s not a lie.

“So what’s the problem?” Ricky asks, wading back through the water towards him. 

“I’m not married… anymore.” Tinsley corrects, fingers running over the ring. He was never going to talk about it. 

“You’re divorced and you still wear the ring?” Ricky asks, stepping back into the leaves, the water whooshing back into the spring as it leaves his boots. 

“Not divorced.” Tinsley snaps, glancing very briefly at Ricky, then down at the ring, “She died.” he says, quietly, like if he says the words too loudly they will be too real. 

“Oh.” Ricky says, “Shit, dude, I’m sorry. Did someone- I mean, how did she-”

“It was cancer.” Tinsley says, raising his voice a little and regretting it. 

“Oh.” It’s quieter than the first  _ oh  _ had been. And they both soak in the silence of it for a while. 

Tinsley considers leaving. But Ricky speaks again.

“But… you’re allowed to move on.”

“No. No, I’m not, because I… I promised- I  _ promised  _ it was only her. The last thing I said-” he can’t look away from the ring. There’s still blood stuck under it. Caked around the edges. 

“Surely she didn’t expect you to just-”

“She didn’t.” Tinsley replies, looking back up, “Laughed. Said, she’d rather me happy. But I was- I was only happy with her.”

“You can be happy again.” Ricky tries.

“No.” Tinsley says. “Look we’re- wasting time. Let's get out of here.” he goes to leave.

“You’re not the only one. You know.” Ricky says. Tinsley turns back in time to see the man swallow a lump in his throat, “You’re not the only one who never imagined… wanting someone else again. Like.  _ Really _ wanting them.” his eyes are watery, but so is every other part of him right now. 

“ _ You _ ? You  _ loved _ somebody? Come on Ricky-”

Tinsley can tell he shouldn’t have said it, because the shorter man goes all tense. His eyes harden, almost like the water in them ices over. 

“Oh, no, of course not. Me? No feelings whatsoever, you’re right.” 

He whips his bag from the floor, throws it over his shoulder and storms past Tinsley,

“Come on.” he snaps, “It’s like you said, we’ve wasted too much time already.”

For a moment Tinsley watches Ricky walk away from over his shoulder. Then, finally, he turns, and follows after him. Leaving the blood in the water.

*

It’s one of the worst days because Ricky doesn’t speak to him. In fact he barely even  _ looks _ . Tinsley doesn’t know what to say either and he doesn’t blurt any of the things in his mind, not even  _ I’m sorry _ because he doesn’t think it will help.

For the first time in weeks, he’s actually a little afraid that Ricky may kill him if he says the wrong thing. Does the wrong thing. The man’s jaw’s all clenched and his eyes focus on the task at hand, be it hunting food or walking, one foot in front of the other. It’s as though Tinsley isn’t there at all.

In the evening Tinsley watches him pick at his food through the flames of the fire (which he had lit with difficulty for much of the wood was damp from the brief rain shower). He shimmers and shadows dance on him as sparks crackle and pop amongst the wood. 

“If it helps... I’m sorry.” Tinsley mutters eventually. Ricky jumps. It reminds him briefly of the Ricky in the owl sanctuary. 

“For what, exactly?”

Tinsley puts down his fork, letting it clatter in the empty tin bowl, then puts said tin on the ground beside him, “Kissing you. Not kissing you more? But mostly… saying you weren’t… capable of loving someone. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

“No.” Ricky says quietly, “You meant it.” he puts his bowl down too and moves around the fire to his sleeping bag, lays on top of it but not in it. 

“But I was wrong.” Tinsley says, “It was a cruel assumption to make.” so many sides of Ricky… he thought the man didn’t have a loving one? In fact it seems to make more sense than anything, Ricky losing someone.

“Not really.” Ricky murmurs, “I’ve spent much of our time together killing things.” 

“Still,” Tinsley says, crawling to his own sleeping bag. He’d been reluctant to get the thing out because it never goes back in the bag quite as compact, but the ground is too wet to lie on tonight. “I misjudged you and I apologise.”

“It’s fine.” Ricky replies. Blunt. Like it’s not fine really. 

After a few beats of wordless noise, Tinsley looks over to him, the side of Ricky’s face glowing under the light of the crackling fire. Crickets are chirping all around them. Never has the forest felt so loud. “Who was he?” he works up the courage to finally say.

Ricky doesn’t reply but his jaw clenches again and he stares up at the canopy of the forest like every leaf up there is a star. His eyes are shiny with water, like they had been back at the spring.

“You don’t have to tell me.” Tinsley says when Ricky doesn’t tell him. The man still doesn’t even blink so the detective gives up and rolls over, his back to him. He closes his eyes.

Just as he can feel sleep weighing down on him, behind his eyes, Ricky jolts him awake again with a hoarse kind of voice that shudders through the slowly dimming noise of the crickets.

“Tinsley?” 

“Hmm?”

“Are you awake?” Rick asks.

“No I’m replying to you in my sleep.” Tinsley snaps back. Ricky doesn’t respond to that. Even the crickets have suddenly retired for the night, “What is it then?” he asks. 

Ricky doesn’t reply and Tinsley wonders if he’s simply fallen asleep once more. He closes his eyes and makes to do the same when his voice cuts through the air again. Weak and shaky. 

“He used to... squeeze my hand tighter.” 

Tinskey opens his eyes. He wonders if he possibly dreamt it and rolls over on the shiny sleeping bag material to look at him. Ricky’s eyes are still open reflecting the silver stars and the dying flickering of their fire. Tinsley waits for him to continue. 

“He…” Ricky pauses to swallow, adam’s apple thick in his throat, “would lean against me. Sometimes. His head on my shoulder. And his smile, just for me so gentle so… real and warm, a smile that really, cuts into you, makes you feel it’s grace all over yourself. Enough to make me think that maybe… that maybe...”

“That maybe he loved you too.” Tinsley finishes for him. And Ricky doesn’t bite back at the interruption, as though he’s glad not to have to say it himself. 

“Yeah.” he whispers at the sky breaking between the leaves. “One night…” he continues, “the stars were out, like now but there were no trees to block it. We were lying beneath the sky. He squeezed my hand. Said that it was a nice night. And he was  _ looking at me _ in this…  _ way _ . Like he wanted…”

Tinsley watches Ricky close his eyes, lick his lips, swallow. 

“I went to kiss him.” Ricky admits, finally, eyes still closed. “ _ God  _ I was so  _ so  _ stupid. I- I  _ know  _ I was stupid but I just thought-” he swallows whatever he thought back down again, “He laughed at me. Called me, the  _ worst  _ names a-and left me alone, on the hillside and afterwards he just,” his voice is trembling, Tinsley almost wants to tell him to stop but he doesn’t, let’s him spill everything like a broken, destructive dam…

“He acted like I was a  _ disease _ . Wouldn’t even be on the beach with me- n-not in the same room and I… It was always my fault I mean I kept pushing him and I- I touched him, too much, too often, probably freaked him out although he never not once pushed away and every time I think of him I remember how he would squeeze my hand back and-

“I wanted people to stare at us when I touched him.” he admits, “It’s all my fault. I willed all the rumours to start and spread about us because I- I wanted them to be true and-”

“Ricky.” Tinsley wanted to reach out and do something, anything, stop the man’s hands from shaking.

“No, I know I deserved it. The names and the- the avoidance the way he disappeared from my life like-  _ God  _ I don’t know like I never mattered at all-”

“Ricky.”

Ricky’s eyes snap over to him. Tears are flowing down his cheeks and, hurriedly, Tinsley wipes them with the backs of his long fingers.

“You didn’t deserve all that you… he was a dick, Ricky, to do that to you.”

Ricky shakes his head desperately and more tears pour in place of the ones on the backs of Tinsley’s fingers. “No. He wasn’t.” he can barely keep the wail from shaking into his voice. It’s all broken, “You didn’t know what he was like he was- he was my best friend and he was kind. And funny and- and  _ everything, _ Tinsley, he was-”

“He was still a dick to do that to you, Ricky.” Tinsley insists, “To not only abandon you but spread- rumours about you, to bully you, Ricky, that’s… that’s a shit friend and a worse human.”

Ricky looks over at him. There are tears on his lips, “Worse than me?” he asks, voice small, and for that moment Tinsley thinks that maybe he does have regrets after all.

“One hundred percent worse than you.”

“Well now you're just lying.” Ricky says in a small voice as he looks back up at the leaves, the stars.

“No.” Tinsley says, shifting, propping himself up on his elbow, “No I’m not you- I mean you’re horrifying, sure, but that guy- what he did to you…  _ worse. _ ” and okay maybe that’s possibly a tiny bit biased but Tinsley doesn’t care because right now he means every single syllable of it. 

“Yeah?” Ricky whispers.

“Yeah.” Tinsley whispers back, looking down at him, holding his eyes and feeling all his breath leave him, all the air in his lungs extinguished. He’s all empty and full all at once.

“Tinsley?” Ricky manages to blurt eventually.

“Yeah?”

‘Hold me.” he says, “Please?” 

Tinsley slips down from his elbow and, with difficulty, shuffles the sleeping bag underneath him closer. He wraps an arm around Ricky’s front and presses his face into the shorter man’s neck. He fits there, somehow, and can’t help press a kiss to his clothed shoulder. 

And he holds him. All night. It’s easy to believe that night that Ricky is nothing but a heartbroken man. That he is vulnerable and incapable of breaking anything, capable only of being what is left broke.

*

Tinsley wakes when lips press to his forehead. 

“Hmm?” 

For a moment he forgets everything about where he is, for the smallest of moments, and thinks that it’s Eleanor. But when his brain comes around and he feels the lips move away he knows that’s not true. Ricky, slowly slipping out of his arms, making his sleeping bag rustle beneath him. It’s the first time that he’s held anyone at night since… Eleanor… and well… it doesn’t scare him nor guilt him half as much as expected.

“Where’re you going?” Tinsley murmurs when Ricky is gone entirely, his hand falling onto an empty sleeping bag. 

“For breakfast.” Ricky replies.

“What if there’s another thief?” he asks, eyes still closed.

“I’m sure you can handle it this time.” Ricky replies and Tinsley hears leaves swish under his feet as he leaves. 

Tinsley sighs and rolls over, staring up at the sky. It’s a fresh morning, like the rain has washed the sky and returned it to it’s soft light blues and gentle fluffy clouds. He rubs a hand over his face and thinks about last night, everything Ricky told him. There’s little else to feel but sadness for him. All Ricky knows about love is the hate he received for it. And well… from all he’d said in the past, Ricky’s family don’t exactly seem particularly loving either.

It’s not fair, he thinks because Ricky is… so much. So bold, so exciting, so  _ new _ . Ricky’s like a storm inside a man, angry thunder that falls eventually, to gentle, trickling, drizzling rain that strokes your skin like a kiss. Ricky’s all the kinds of rain rolled into one and all Tinsley wants to do is drown underneath him. Know every little raindrop, learn the cause of every single cloud. All he wants is to kiss him back in the way that no one else ever did.

Perhaps this makes him a bad person; wanting someone like Ricky Goldsworth but it’s too late for that because here he is. And maybe he has always been a little bad, anyway. Maybe there was something in the way he poured over murder cases, got in the criminals’ heads. They always… they always said that the best detectives always end up as the one being detected. At least he thinks he heard that from somewhere. Perhaps he had always been a little bit like this, perhaps Ricky Goldsworth just brought it out of him, like he’s a beast Ricky is dying to tame. 

And if Ricky wants something… well Tinsley is going to give it to him sooner or later. 

He’s setting the fire roaring back to life when Ricky returns. The wood crunches, a dim little light beneath it all sparking into being. Ricky sits down wordlessly and begins to work on the rabbits he’d caught. Tinsley still hates to watch so he doesn’t, pokes the fire some more. 

“You know, Eleanor and I we… met in school.” Tinsley starts.

“Just because I overshared a shit ton last night doesn’t mean you need feel inclined to, Detective.” Ricky replies, tone unbothered.

“Right…” Tinsley says, “Okay, but I just feel like I told you very little about her.”

“Said more than me.” Ricky says, “I never even told you my guy’s name.” 

True, Tinsley thinks, and looks up at him quizzically. The fire’s now roaring again, throwing heat into the cool morning air. “Do you want to?”

Ricky shrugs, “Doesn’t really matter. Dan’s hardly an exciting or unusual name.” 

“Dan?” Tinsley echoes, “Yes I imagined a name kinda meaner.”

Ricky smiles a little. It appears soft. “Friends started calling him D.B.” and as quickly as it arrived, the smile is gone.

“Where’d that come from?” Tinsley asks.

“Don’t know… it’s not to do with his middle name. That was… after he uh, left me, anyway. Inside jokes I’ll never understand.” 

There’s a squelching sound and Tinsley imagines Ricky’s gutted a disturbing part of rabbit in a particularly aggressive manor. As if, Tinsley imagines, he is killing the man all over again. He grimaces a little at the ground, but looks up when he hears Ricky laugh.

“What?” he demands.

“Nothing just… you barely react to me beating that guy’s face yesterday but you turn your nose up to me preparing your breakfast?”

Tinsley shrugs, “Well we weren’t going to eat that man and… I don’t know I guess I’m used to murder scenes.”

“How’d you like being the creator of one?” Ricky asks, smirking a little over at him.

“I feel like you’re changing the subject.” Tinsley says. 

“You want to talk about Dan Cooper all day? Because I really don’t, Tinsley.” 

If Tinsley looks up then, which he doesn’t because,  _ ew _ , he might have seen Ricky’s hands shaking slightly, might have noticed the rest of him tense. But he doesn’t look up and goes only by the tremble in Ricky’s voice… it hurts too much for him to talk about. 

“Fair enough.” he says after reaching the mental conclusion, “Perhaps we have gone through enough heavy shit to last a good few days.”

Ricky looks up at him and smiles then, “Perhaps.” he says.

“Just… one more question, though, if you don’t mind? Then we never have to bring him up again, if you don’t want...”

Ricky sighs and looks up back up, “Go on…”

“That person you were telling me about… the only person you ever waste your time thinking about… was that him, Dan?”

Ricky nods stiffly once and then twice, then turns back to the rabbits with total focus. Tinsley looks away too, decides to have a look at the map for a while.

*

The clay mine is huge but they hear it before they see it- rumbling diggers and drills, churning up the ground.. It is almost as if it had landed from the sky into the forested areas, demolishing trees beneath it to make room. There’s a tall wire fence running through the trees still standing around it like they all got front row to a presidential visit, all leaning and eager, pushing at the edges of the clay ahead of them for the best view. 

Tinsley and Ricky follow the wire fencing around the mine in hopes of coming to an opening. Occasionally, the trees leave space and allow them to peer across. There are huge machines left in the dirt and tall chimneys higher than the trees on buildings beyond pits and hills and doorframes leading under the earth. It looks like a mess.

“Could you imagine working here?” Tinsley asks, attempting light conversation. They’ve been quiet for a while and frankly Tinsley misses the bickering. 

“No.” Ricky replies bluntly.

Tinsley lets out a breathy laugh.

“I just mean that, I wouldn’t have the patience.”

“Or the obedience.” Tinsley adds. He feels Ricky glance at him but daren’t look over. He’s too bright and already TInsley feels so blinded. 

“That too.” Ricky agrees, “Where do you suppose we’re meant to meet?”

“Good question.” It isn’t Tinsley’s voice. It isn’t a man’s at all but a woman’s. 

They turn around to find Holly Horsley standing there, a few of her friends a metre or so behind her. 

“Holly!” Tinsley greets, trying to be cheery, “How are you?”

“They found another body, you know. Not Charlie or Jan.” Holly says, ignoring the friendly greeting and truly getting to the point. 

“Oh? When? Where?” 

“In fact because of Charlie and Jan there have been searches all the way back to Nowhere Forest… and they’ve found quite a few bodies, scattered along the trail of this hunt.”

“How awful!” Tinsley says. He can’t find any situation, not one thread of words here, that doesn’t make them look guilty. 

Holly steps closer to him, jaw tight and angry, “Did you know I am a detective?” she asks slowly. 

Tinsley smiles down at her, “Snap! So am I!” he beams.

“And you don’t want to solve this?”

“He’d far rather solve this treasure hunt actually.” Ricky chimes in. 

Holly snaps her gaze over at him and poses a smile, “We may have all come here for a little bit of gold but priorities change, don’t you think?” she looks back at Tinsley, who is taller than her but not by much, not enough for Tinsley to be intimidating. 

“I can’t tell if you are asking me to investigate or confess.” Tinsley says, voice low. 

“Do you have something to confess?”

Gently, Tinsley smiles, “No. Not a murder, anyway.”

Holly holds his gaze for a while longer and Tinsley refuses to break it. “You’re hiding something.” Holly says eventually, “Mark my words I’ll find out what.”

Then she steps away, and walks past the two of them. Her friends follow, like obedient little sheep. Tinsley watches the way Ricky watches them- like they’re merely rabbits for him to hunt.

“You realise we’ll probably have to follow them until we find the meeting spot.” Tinsley says.

“Yes.” Ricky says through gritted teeth.

“So cool it!” Tinsley tells him. He throws an arm around the man’s shoulders without really thinking, and gives him a gentle shake, “Stop thinking about them. It’s not like they can have any evidence.” 

“No nothing except our fingerprints and the blood still stuck under our nails.” Ricky replies sarcastically.

“You say that like it’s my fault.” Tinsley says as they begin to walk. To his surprise Ricky hasn’t thrown his arm off. It sits there. And it doesn’t feel wrong. 

“Well half of it is.” 

“More like ten percent.”

Ricky looks up at him with a frown, “At least forty.”

“Ten.”

“If it helps you sleep at night.”

“You know what, it does, actually.” Tinsley says.

Holding Ricky Goldsworth helps him sleep too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so much of the titles of this fic are from song lyrics which i meant to say like ages ago and kept forgetting lol. anyway here is the playlist w/ all the songs and more if ur interested, and tysm for reading!! https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3rPNPBeR3Xvm5Q5rjxYvc5?si=Wprr6LayQwamNvmYZzrqxQ


	7. The Blood Is On My Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another clue solved, another murdered committed (among other things lol)

They reach the meeting point eventually, after climbing a short hill where the trees die away and reveal the mine below. It stretches so far that Tinsley can barely tell if it ends at all. An expanse of space where everything that isn’t dead, is simply dying.

“Welcome all!” The assistant greets. 

There’s about fifteen people gathered, about half the amount from the beginning, in Nowhere. How distant that feels now, the parachute, the grace, the calmness of Ricky Goldsworth as Tinsley first saw him. 

Everyone is worn and tired, grubby. Most of them look read to give up. Some already have. Some didn’t have a choice in the matter. 

Ricky sticks close to Tinsley but he stares past him, across to Holly. There’s a growl being held in his throat, Tinsley thinks and as if to calm him, he lightly presses a hand to Ricky’s wrist, curling around his sleeve to hold him lightly. He feels Ricky turn to look at him instead and tries not to look back.

The assistant’s talking, rambling some information about the mines off of a cue card in his hand. Tinsley’s mind slips away, caught up on the warmth of Ricky’s skin beneath his sleeve, the steadiness of his breath- even and easy. 

He hasn’t kissed many men. Only three, in fact, and Ricky is one of them. It definitely can’t be a third time lucky. Ricky isn’t luck- fortune perhaps but not the good kind. Ricky isn’t good for him but then… being alone isn’t either.

Tinsley imagines, after this, going back home. Where there are too many plates in the cupboard for one, too much room in the bed that lets the cold wrap him in a hug instead. He thinks about going back to an empty home and emptier streets where people smile sadly at him if they know him, smile sadly if they know  _ of _ him, and smile happily, if they do not know him at all. 

He imagines going back to it all and thinks, that right now, he needn’t feel it, the hollow wasteland he’ll feel inside of him when this is all over. He can have  _ something  _ while he’s here, someone to hold at night and someone to wake up for the next day. Something to work towards and someone to work towards it with. 

Ricky’s offering it all to him and he would be a fool not to take it (and a bigger fool  _ to  _ take it). 

“Tinsley.” Ricky nudges his arm, “You’re not writing, did you get that?”

Tinsley blinks blankly down at him, “Hmm?” 

“You weren’t listening.” Ricky concludes, “ _ Unbelievable _ .” And he takes it upon himself to reach into Tinsley’s trouser pocket and remove the notebook himself. 

If Tinsley is blushing when Ricky pulls away, he doesn’t say anything about it, just opens the notebook and scribbles down whatever the assistant had said.

Actually he doesn’t scribble. He writes slowly, in a seemingly particular way. Then he thrusts it- notebook and pen- back into Tinsley’s chest.

“Can you read it this time?”

Tinsley looks down;

_ Your effort will be worth the cold _

_ You’ll need a light- do not get bold _

“Yeah I got it.” he says, voice light, as if it is only half there.

“Any ideas?”

“No.” Tinsley says, closing the notebook and replacing it to his pocket. Slowly, the group is beginning to leave, “You?”

“Somewhere dark.” Ricky replies.

“Great.” Tinsley murmurs. Ricky frowns up at him. 

“You alright, Tinsley?”

Tinsley looks down at him. The sun bounces off Ricky’s light brown skin and makes his eyes gleam. He is neither gentle nor bold, right now, but somewhere between calm and concerned, features smooth, lips thin, eyes curious. Tinsley can’t help but sigh, just looking at him. He could kiss him again but he doesn’t. 

“I’m fine.” he says, then straightens, “Come on.”

“We don’t know where we’re going!” Ricky says, but hurries down the little hill after him, back into the trees which shade them from the strong summery sun. 

“Somewhere dark, you said.”

“Well yeah but-”

“Somewhere dangerous, too. He’s warning us, like with the waterfall.”

Ricky snorts, “Some good that warning did you.”

“Some good it did Charlie and Jan.” Tinsely adds, a little sombre. He glances over at Ricky. 

“Do you wish you did that?” Ricky asks.

“No.” Tinsley replies. He felt certain until he says it. “You, Ricky Goldsworth,” he murmurs, looking at him, “you will be the death of me.”

Ricky grins, “Well I hope so.” 

“No you don’t.” Tinsley says, “You’d kill me after all of this?”

“You’ve seen too much, Tins.” Ricky says, “Besides, I told you, once you’re of no use to me…”

“That’s the only reason you’re keeping me around? To solve the clues you could  _ easily  _ solve yourself.” 

“Are you offering more, Detective?” Ricky asks. His words are so clear, almost like a song that Tinsley yearns to memorise, to replay over and over when he is far from here. 

“I… am not sure that will save me from you, will it?” Tinsley says. 

“Perhaps not.” Ricky agrees, stepping over a large and fallen branch on the path, “But then, suppose I do kill you and, suppose this is all the time left that you have… wouldn’t you want to enjoy it?” 

Tinsley looks at him for a long while, stopping on the path just to look. Ricky’s eyes don’t look as though they want to kill him, kiss him maybe but… he’s got to believe Ricky will let him out of this alive. 

He turns and continues to walk, hearing Ricky crash through the leaves to catch up. If only death truly frightened him.

*

After a while, they come to a river. Ricky fishes. Tinsley studies the map. The routine is easy and never-ending. He doesn’t feel it needs to end at all. He’d do this forever. Be trapped in this bubble of what feels like walking through the entire world. All of these days he might live on repeat and he wouldn’t bore. 

Not of Ricky fishing, rolling up his sleeves so Tinsley can glance at his arms. Not of the different ways light shines in Ricky’s eyes, of all the things his eyes can say. Of all the stories Ricky could tell. There’s still a little tug in his chest trying to reign him back home, but that tug, however alive it feels inside of him, is dead. That tug will take him back to nothing but the empty house. 

Here he is not empty. He walks by someone’s side and sleeps beside them too. 

He finally lost the way it felt to be lonely. 

Why would he ever turn around?

Drawing his eyes back to the map he tries to think. Then he takes out his pen and marks all the places they have been. The map rustles as he moves it across his lap like a large blanket. Lightly he links them all together and comes up with a large pentagon, stretching across miles of forest broken by water. He grins and places a dot in the centre, next to a small rectangle marked there, with a small snowflake inside of it.

The symbol for an Ice House.

*

The night comes twinkling through the trees a few nights later. Tinsley barely feels time pass. He finds that he looks at Ricky and blinks and they have travelled tens of more miles. His shoes are slowly ruining. They’re starting to rub on his ankles. Still, he barely notices. 

The night air is cool but welcome, too warm has the day been for a fire. 

“Ricky… what will you do, when this is over?”

He feels Ricky glance at him but doesn’t return it. Everytime he looks at Ricky he  _ thinks  _ and then he feels the guilt of the tug trying to pull him back home. A pointless tug but still a tug. He stares at the sky. He hears Ricky do the same, and then,

“I’ll go home.” he says, quietly, “Back to Gold’s Isle. To my mother. And… everyone.”

Tinsley turns, “Why?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. 

“I have to.” Ricky replies. 

“Why?” Tinsley repeats. He watches as the man blinks slowly, “Are you afraid of him? Your father?”

Ricky looks at him, “Who isn’t afraid of their father?”

Tinsley shrugs, “I’ve not one to be afraid of, so, I wouldn’t know.” he glances at the leaves then back up. Ricky. Just looking at him… he can’t help but ask, “Why don’t you just run? I could go with you. We’d have such a good time, don’t you think?” 

Ricky rolls over, so he’s closer and staring right at him. After hesitating, he takes his hand and reaches across to Tinsley’s face, running his fingers lightly over his cheek, then round to his chin, rubbing against the stubble. Tinsley can’t breathe.

“Whatever would your wife say?” Ricky asks quietly. 

Tinsley meets his eyes. Black as the sky. Ricky’s fingers fall away and he rolls back over, onto his back.

“Besides,” he continues as Tinsley just watches, “they’d find me. Everytime. They’d always catch up. And I’d break my mum’s heart, not returning… she only let me leave because of my father.”

“Is she afraid of him too?” 

Ricky turns again, eyes gleaming, “Everyone’s afraid of Goldsworth.” 

Tinsley goes to say something, something like  _ I don’t want you to go back to him _ but the words die before they reach his tongue. Instead he rolls over, his back to Ricky. It doesn’t stop him thinking.

*

They reach the ice house a few long days later. The remains of the ruined, tumbling mansion is taken over by trees, ivy and brambles. The entrance to the ice house is overgrown too, hidden amongst trees, the building buried by leaves and mud, as though it is built into the forest. 

It’s unlocked and no one else is around. Tinsley glances at Ricky then tugs open the wooden door. It’s barely a door anymore, half eaten and rotten from rain, half falling off its hinges, ripped. He pulls it to the side anyway, holding it open.

“Lucky you nicked that torch huh?” Ricky says, as Tinsley turns it on. He shots Ricky a look, then shines the torch inside.

It is cold in there. And even with the torch it’s almost pitch black inside. It’s a small, circular space with stairs down into it. 

“Coming?” Tinsley asks, glancing back at Ricky.

“Only to ensure you don’t slip again.”

Tinsley shakes his head, but he’s smiling as he steps down. At the foot of the stairs, the ground, he finds, is almost non-existent, and a few steps in front of him, is a giant hole. He steps foreward and peers in. He can’t see the bottom, but perhaps it’s more to do with the lack of light, a torch can only reveal so much.

Suddenly, he’s jolted, shaken by strong hands, as if he’s being pushed over the edge and then hurriedly yanked back again.

“Woah saved ya!” 

Ricky.

Tinsley turns to glare at him, shines the torch in his face to which the man squints.

“Careful, or I really will push you.” Ricky says, pushing the torch down. 

“You almost gave me a heart attack!”

Ricky snorts, “Relax, my dad would do that all the time if one of us got near the edge of something.”

“Somehow that makes a lot of sense.” Tinsley replies, moving away from him and beginning to walk around the thin ring of stone path. He hears Ricky shiver. “Want my jacket?” he asks.

“Is that a real offer or a joke?”

“Are you really cold or are you being dramatic?” Tinsley replies, turning around.

Ricky’s the otherside of the building, like a silhouette in the dark. “Toss it to me.”

Tinsley laughs, “Risk losing my best jacket? I’m good, Rick.” 

He continues walking around the walls, shining his torch over it all, looking for the next clue. 

“Best jacket? Not anymore, it’s a wreck and it stinks.”

Frowning over at him, Tinsley says, “Speak for yourself.” he catches Ricky’s grin in the cast of his torch light, then looks away. 

“Interesting.” Ricky says, “There’s a ladder here.”

Tinsley reaches where Ricky is kneeling and feeling the rusted iron of a ladder clinging to the side of the hole. 

“Surely we don’t have to…”

Ricky stands up, “Think we do. You see a clue anywhere else?”

Tinsley looks over and sighs, “Jesus.”

“Want me to go?” Ricky asks.

Tinsley frowns, “Are you sure? Aren’t I like, your slave or something?”

Ricky snorts. It echoes around the room, “Hardly. We’re a team.” 

Tinsley swallows. He almost says  _ oh _ but pushes it back. “Ok.” he says instead, like it’s any better. “Are you sure you want to-”

Ricky shrugs, “Just, hold the torch down so I can see.”

Tinsley sits down next to the ladder and hurriedly takes out his notebook, sets it next to him. Then, when Ricky’s tested the ladder’s security (to which it creaks and whines), he swings one leg over the edge, then the other. He doesn’t look scared, but Tinsley’s trying not to let the torch tremble under his grip as he shines it down the hole besides Ricky’s body. 

“Oh, I can see it I think, on your right? Not too far down.” Tinsley says, making the other look down to where he described. 

“Oh yeah.” it’s just a whisper, but it echoes, rebounded off every curve of the wall. 

He treads down, and Tinsley can’t help but close his eyes when the creaking gets too much. It sounds like the rungs of the ladder will snap at any moment. 

“Tinsley?” Ricky starts after many long seconds.

“Yeah?” Tinsley asks, opening his eyes. 

Ricky lets out a shaky breath, “Why do  _ you  _ sound so scared?”

“I don’t.” Tinsley insists.

“Okay, well I’m at the thing.”

“Please, read out to me, the  _ thing _ .” Tinsley says.

“Can you do the torch more up?” he asks.

“Right.”

Tinsley swings the torch up and listens as Ricky reads out the clue. He can’t write at the same time as holding the torch though so gets Ricky to wait while he scrawls it, then reads it back:

“ _ To cabins West but be assured, there’s no true rest until treasure’s procured _ .” 

“Yep.” Ricky confirmed, before immediately beginning to climb back up, “It’s so fucking dark down there.” he murmurs when he clambers back onto the small pathway. Tinsley helps him up, but doesn’t let Ricky stumble into him, loses his breath, though, at the thought. 

“Let’s get back into the light.” Tinsley says, heading back to the entrance, torch in hand, Ricky closely following behind and up the stairs.

The sunlight, even hidden behind the trees, is bright and both squint and exclaim when it hits them. Then Tinsley puts away the torch and looks around. Two men are walking towards them. He recognises them from the meeting points and glances at Ricky.

“Where’s the clue?” one of them demands when they’re close enough.

“Why would we tell you?” Ricky says, “Isn’t that part of the fun?” he smiles. 

“You will tell us.” The other man says.

They both look similar. Black clothes, tall but not quite as tall as Tinsley, stockily built, broad shouldered. Ricky folds his arms and straightens.

“Or what?” 

One of the men smiles, revealing a large gap in his teeth. Then his arm swings suddenly forward, fist striking across Tinsley’s face.

For a moment all Tinsley hears is white noise, and he wipes his nose to find blood bright on his hand, sliding along the cracks in his dry skin. He looks back up,

“You didn’t want to do that.” he says, then charges at the man, throwing him to the floor and landing on top of him.

Ricky’s got the other man, but Tinsley can’t spare a second to glance over at him, instead throws punch after punch down onto the man’s nose, their blood mixing on his hands like testing the colours for a painting. 

Not quite dark enough. 

He pushes the man’s head back, exposing his neck before pressing his hand there, hard. The man tries to gasp beneath him but it sounds, fittingly, strangled. Tinsley digs his fingers into the skin, making the man groan, a low, crackly, pitiful noise. 

As he squeezes he meets the man’s eyes. His face is reddening and his eyes are bulging. He looks, as Tinsley tightens his grip as far as he can, like he’s about to speak, about to beg for him to stop, but he can’t manage the words. His eyes roll.

His body slumps. 

Tinsley jerks back and stands up, heart not fast but heavy. His hand feels almost static. He stares at the body, kicks it lightly, just to check. It rocks at the impact of his boot and then stills. He lets out a heavy breath and looks over to Ricky as he once again wipes his nose. More blood.

Ricky’s still hitting the other man, throws him from the tree where he’d thrust his head against the bark, down to the floor. He slides his knife from his belt. Tinsley watches as the metal plunges into the man’s neck. 

Blood leaps, starting from the throat like the pressure from a tap exploding. Then it starts to pour from the body in a jerky motion, sloshing over into the leaves. The man chokes and writhes for a while, reaching his hand to his neck- it doesn’t help. Tinsley watches him die. Ricky stands and wipes his brow with his arm, then wipes his knife on the man’s black jacket. Blood continues to spill.

He looks up to Tinsley’s gaze. 

“You like me when I’m gentle?” Ricky starts, stepping over the body towards him, “Or do you prefer me like this?” He vaguely gestures back at the man.

Tinsley swallows. He should say neither but his lips betray him, “I like both.” 

Ricky’s close now, close enough for Tinsley to grab him, pull him against him. But he doesn’t. “And yet you don’t want me?”

“I  _ do _ .” Tinsley replies, leaning a little closer. 

Ricky breathes slowly and stares up at him. He looks like he wants to say something but he doesn’t. Tinsley feels blood touch his lips and he quickly licks it away. Ricky’s eyes follow the movement. 

“None of this is a game.” Ricky says eventually, “I don’t want to be played with.”

“I know I… I know.” Tinsley whispers. He doesn’t want it to be a game either, it’s what holds him back.

He drags his eyes from Ricky’s mouth (he didn’t realise he was staring until it felt too hard to look away), “You know… I feel we ought to show these men exactly where the clue is after all.” 

Catching his train of thought, Ricky grins. 

They throw the bodies down the hole in the ice house. Ricky is already out the door again before they hear them reach the bottom. But Tinsley waits. Curious. It’s a strangely long time. 

Ricky’s in the distance when he reaches the light again, small, amongst the trees, compared to the bag on his back. 

“Ricky!”

“What?” Ricky whirls around. He’s angry but he can’t throw it into words, Tinsley can tell.

“I’m not playing!” Tinsley shouts back, before striding the few metres towards him, “It’s not a game to me either, okay? That’s why I- but I don’t- not any- just c’mere.”

He takes Ricky’s face into his hands.

Ricky catches his mouth in a deep kiss that Tinsley feels on every inch of his body. He curves himself into Ricky, pushing him, slowly until he’s backed against the nearest tree. It hurts his nose to nudge against Ricky’s but he doesn’t move away, digs his fingers into Ricky’s shoulder to stop them shaking when he bites at his lip. 

“Ricky.” his voice is hollow, half gone, as the shorter man’s hand slips behind his shirt collar, “Ricky.”

Slightly, Ricky pulls back. His lips are wet and smeared red as if Tinsley had been wearing lipstick. His eyes are half closed, hooded as they stare at Tinsley’s mouth. 

“God, you’re gonna be the death of me.” Ricky murmurs. Tinsley can’t tell if he’s mimicking his words from earlier on purpose or not but he smiles and ducks his head back down to him,

“Oh I hope so.” he says before kissing him again, licking along his lips to take back his own blood. 

Ricky starts to wrestle with the top of his shirt, fingers fumbling for the buttons to undo. Tinsley hates to pull away.

“Ricky…” he starts, silencing at once as lips land on his throat. His eyes betray him and fall shut. A sigh escapes too. Ricky’s kisses are hot, like he always imagined them to be, “Ricky…”

With all he can muster he moves his head so Ricky has to pull away and look up at him. His eyes are wide and watery, his lips slightly parted in a way that makes Tinsley forget everything in the universe for a moment. 

“We can’t- not here, I mean… others will get here soon.”

Ricky flops his head back against the tree, gazing up at him with a hand reaching into his hair. “Must we pretend this never happened?” he asks.

“I don’t think I could even if I wanted.” Tinsley replies, honest. Ricky’s fingers comb through his hair, pushing it back before he pushes them both away from the tree.

“Come on.” he says, grabbing his bag from the ground. Tinsley doesn’t even remember taking his off but he finds it not far away, where the leaves have scattered, as if animals had fought there- it’s half true. 

There’s blood sticking to leaves too, where Ricky had killed the other man. At least Tinsley had the grace to keep it clean. 

This time Ricky is watching and waiting for him to follow. He hurries towards him, bag on his back jostling. In a strange synchrony Tinsley has never felt before, they stroll through the woods, away from the Ice House and everything inside it. All he can think about is when he may kiss Ricky Goldsworth again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really meant to post this days ago and kept forgetting lol but hope u enjoy! the next one is pretty fun i think?? anyway yeah, see y’all with another update soon!


	8. Could Be Worse, Could Be Alone

It’s strange to kiss in the leaves. They don’t whisper like bedsheets, instead they crunch and snap. But it’s nice under firelight, flames kissing the inches of their skin where hands and lips aren’t. 

Ricky’s different like this. He feels palpable, like he could melt at one word, one sound. Not that Tinsley is any different. It’s been nearly two years since he kissed anyone like this, and almost a year since he kissed anyone at all, so to feel it all again is making him half break. Tempting as it is to take all of Ricky in that moment, as the sunsets and the fire licks out at them, he pulls his head back from the man’s chest.

“Ricky I’m not…”

Ricky looks up at him lazily, propped up on his elbows, “Not what?” he asks, a little breathless, about to chase after Tinsley’s lips.

“ _Fucking you in the middle of a forest_!”

Ricky can’t help but snort, “Oh because that would be the worst thing you’ll do today.” he shoots back.

Tinsley slips off of him and sits back on the ground, “I mean it. It’s… unsanitary.” 

“Alright.” Ricky says with a slight laugh. He rolls over on his side to face him, “But you’ll still kiss me right?”

It’s not like he’d say no. Not with Ricky looking like this, shirt pushed open but still irritatingly hugging his arms, hair ruffled from being pulled through Tinsley’s fingers, the small mark on his throat, glassiness of his eyes. So used, is he, to seeing Ricky smart, well kept. Even in the morning Tinsley can never find a hair out of place. 

But to have the pleasure of ripping him apart…

He pulls him back into another kiss, letting Ricky slide onto his lap. He has to prop himself up with one hand as Ricky presses his body against him, rocking a little, just to tease him. It makes Tinsley groan.

“Don’t,” he warns, quietly, into Ricky’s jaw before planting a tumble of kisses there, “ _God_ Ricky you can’t just-”

He shuts up as Ricky turns his jaw and kisses his mouth again. Ricky’s lips: they could have God turning to the devil. Tinsley might do anything just to kiss them, over and over and never have to think once about anything else. 

When breath runs short it’s Ricky who pulls back first, pressing their foreheads together and breathing into his face with his eyes closed. 

“You’re doing so much to me.” Ricky murmurs, “It’s not fair.”

“I know.” Tinsley replies, assuming Ricky means the whole not-making-love-in-a-forest thing. “I know.” 

Ricky only opens his eyes when he slides off Tinsley's body, landing with a cacophonous crunch to the leaves. They lay down beside one another, Tinsley using his own arm as a pillow as he faces him. Frustrated with the distance, Ricky shuffles himself closer, very, very lightly nudges Tinsley’s nose with his own.

“It still hurts doesn’t it.” he says gently.

“Only a little.” Tinsley says, half lying (it hurts more than a little, but it’s nothing he can’t handle).

“I’ve been trying not to touch it but every time I do you make a little whine in the back of your throat.”

“I do?”

“Yeah. You don’t have to keep kissing me if it hurts.”

“No, I know but, I want to.” 

A small smile slips to Ricky’s lips. The lips Tinsley would kiss a thousand times a night if he could- broken nose or not. But not while the man’s smiling like that, it’s too precious. 

Instead he begins to re-button Ricky’s shirt, slowly, feeling for the buttons while not breaking eye contact. He reaches about halfway when his hand brushes Ricky’s fingers, and he looks down then, watches as their fingers latch onto one another like a desperate plea for connection. And he closes his eyes and lies there.

Ricky’s stroking the back of Tinsley’s hand in silence for a while. His thumb is cool and soft over the rough of his own knuckles. 

“Have you ever been with a man?” Ricky asks after a while, “It doesn’t seem to scare you, but I assumed if you were with a woman since school…”

“Oh, yeah, me and El met back in high school but we didn’t get together until university.” Tinsley’s eyes are still closed and he pictures the moment he first kissed her so vividly it is like he never left the moment at all. Like he’s still living it over and over, “I’d been with a couple men before that. Nothing special, though, mostly a little bit of fun.”

“That what this is, too?” 

Tinsley opens his eyes and meets the brown’s in Ricky’s own, “I don’t know.” he says honestly, after a beat of thought, “It would have been easier, to give in, if that’s all this was. I think, anyway.” he finds he can no longer look at him. But the small space of ground between them is so small that it is barely possible to look anywhere else anyway. “You’re something else entirely Ricky.”

Ricky smiles a little at that. He is capable of so many smiles but every single one makes Tinsley feel the exact same- like his insides have learnt acrobatics. 

“What about you?” the detective asks eventually, “Have you been with many men?”

“Yeah.” he sighs the word at the darkened sky. “None of them the man I truly wanted.”

“You still think of him?”

“I can’t see a time where I won’t.” Ricky replies, “You still think of her?”

“Every fucking day.” 

Ricky smiles, “And all the fucking nights in between, right?” Their eyes meet then, glowing like stars in the dark.

Tinsley manages a small, weak and tired smile back, “Right.” he almost whispers, tiredness slowly stealing his voice.

“Would you like to come hunting with me tomorrow morning?” Ricky asks, “We’re good when we hunt together.”

“You know I’m not a morning person. And what happened today wasn’t hunting, Ricky.” Tinsley murmurs, eyes closed.

“What would you call it then?” Ricky asks.

“Payback? I dunno, ‘m tired.” Tinsley’s more grumbling now but he manages to stay awake to hear Ricky roll over, and feel Ricky tugging him close. He grabs back at him, arm around Ricky’s stomach, face resting lightly against his shoulder. 

He feels, vaguely, lips press against his forehead. He’s too close to sleep to even think to question it.

*

 _Cabins West_ appear, rather excitingly, to be actual cabins. From what Tinsley can determine at least. He’s not been so focused, not with Ricky beside him. It seems worse, now, knowing that he can kiss him, than before when those lines remained uncrossed. 

However, despite distractions, there _are_ cabin’s some way west, past the waterfall of which they have already been and further west still. 

It seems right. Even just a slight hope of a bed is enough to convince him. (Not just to lie with Ricky, he’s also sick of sleeping bags and leaves and terrible little log-made camps to shelter from rain, plus, Ricky always blames him if the water leaks in them, despite the fact Ricky also helped and definitely put said leaking sections together). 

They spend the days walking (with a brief stop for a small lunch) and the nights kissing and holding one another underneath an explosive sky. It’s a wonderful thing to grow used to again, Tinsley finds. 

Although sometimes he wakes up and thinks it’s Eleanor, or sometimes he’ll wonder what she’d think of him now, sleeping easily beside a murderer. He felt a pang of guilt, too, when Ricky found the soft spot on his neck where only El, before, had ever kissed him. But he also felt a long dull ache of pleasure as Ricky kissed him there, sucked on the skin, and god had he missed the way it felt.

Plus, he’d rather all those thoughts, about El, when someone is there. Because he thinks most of them enough when he lies alone anyway. Wakes up wondering where she’s gone. Some mornings he used to swear he could hear her cooking breakfast. But the stove was always cold and empty when he came downstairs.

At least now, someone is heating the metaphorical stove. At least now, when he feels his heart beat heavy and alive, it isn’t beating alone.

*

The cabins, when they finally reach them almost a week later are small and scattered around the forest. Fenn’s assistant is already there, pacing back and forth beside a long wooden table (strewn with large metal keys), hands pressed together as though in prayer and tapping his lips as though in thought. 

The assistant isn’t the only one there either. Some way through the trees Tinsley sees a small group of people entering one of the cabins, and a little across from them he sees Holly and some friends. At once he settles a hand to Ricky’s wrist, lightly, barely there but enough to tell him not to do anything rash.

“How did they beat us?” Ricky murmurs.

“In all fairness we haven’t exactly been getting up as early these past few days, have we?” Tinsley points out. Ricky doesn’t look particularly impressed with this answer, lips pressed into a thin line, but he doesn’t argue.

Their voices startle the assistant, then, who whirls around to greet them in delight.

“There you are!” he greets, “You’re so usually first I worried something had happened to you like much of the others. Uhh, keys are here, choose a cabin my friends!” he gestures wildly around at the expanse of forest. 

Ricky and Tinsley share a glance. Ricky’s reads _how dare he refer to us as friends_ and Tinsley’s reads, _I know but let him be_. They step up to the table and stare at the keys. At first Tinsley can barely tell the difference between them, all large and rusted metal on large rings. But he finds the subtle changes in their designs, more or less teeth on each one, slightly differing orders.

“Which one is the furthest away from everyone else?” Ricky asks.

The assistant looks a little confused.

“Uhh, we like to keep ourselves to ourselves, y’know? Shy and all that.” Tinsley blurts, gently holding the man’s gaze. If detective work taught him anything, it’s how to hide the truth under half lies. 

The assistant takes a key near the end of the rows and holds it out to them, “This is for the cabin up in the trees over there, the furthest one out.”

“Thank you.” Tinsley says, taking the key. Ricky follows him from the table.

“Uh, gentlemen.”

Reluctantly they turn back around to the assistant.

“I understand you are private people but there will be a cooked meal out here at 7 this evening, if you’d like to join.”

Tinsley nods, “Thank you.” he says, “We’ll endeavour to be there.” 

The cabin some way off within the trees is small and cold inside. But Tinsley revels at the sight of the two small beds and falls onto the one closest to him, making the mattress graunch. He sighs into the sheets.

“God I miss beds.” 

He hears Ricky open a door to the side of the room, it squeaks as he swivels the handle. 

“Oh my god there’s a bathtub in here!” Ricky calls. 

“Sounds wonderful.” Tinsley replies, half into the pillow. 

“I mean it’s small but it’s a bath, I can’t wait it’s been so long since I felt properly clean.” he closes the bathroom door and treads across the wooden floor. He shoves lightly at Tinsley’s shoulder.

“Move you’re taking up the entire ass bed.”

“There’s another bed over there.” Tinsley murmurs back.

“Mm, but I want this one.” Ricky flops down onto the bed, landing half on top of Tinsley’s back, making the taller man groan.

“Rickyyyy.” he shuffles and writhes until Ricky slips off of him and lays instead beside him. Although this does mean he’s created space for the man, he huffs at the victorious glint in Ricky’s eye. “Hate you.” he says, one eye on him, the other mushed into the pillow. 

Ricky fake pouts, “You do? Damn, guess I’ll have to sleep in the other bed after all. Unbelievable, Tinsley, after all this, I thought we were friends!” He goes to move away and Tinsley can’t help the laugh that escapes him, like a runaway giggle. 

“Ricky, wait, no-” he reaches out a hand to grab him back but Ricky’s already slipped off the bed. “Hey come onnn!” he shuffles across the bed, not caring for the now wrinkled sheets beneath him. He grabs Ricky’s arm successfully this time. 

“Come back, I was kidding.” 

Tinsley’s kneeling on the bed, and it puts him at almost the same height as Ricky standing on the floor (although still a little taller). He slips his hands around the man’s waist.

“Join me.” Tinsley offers, thumbs gently rubbing the material of Ricky’s jacket. 

In response, Ricky kisses him. It’s not often that Ricky initiates a kiss, so it makes Tinsley’s heart stutter for a moment, caught between beats, suspended without air. But it catches up and sends pulses to his fingers, below his stomach, down his back. He shuffles back to allow Ricky to clamber back onto the bed, sighing desperately into his mouth. 

“You know-” Tinsley starts, then promptly stops to catch Ricky’s lips again, “That dinner- will be soon- I’m not missing it.”

Ricky pushes him back onto the bed. The mattress groans, cheap and old. He pulls their faces apart and looks down at him, “You’re gonna make me wait even longer?” 

“Won’t be that long.” Tinsley replies, running a hand down Ricky’s thigh, pausing at his knee, “Can’t tell me you don’t want a proper nutritious meal for once.” 

“I have you.” Ricky says.

Tinsley rolls his eyes but he feels his cheeks warm a little, “You know what I mean.”

Ricky groans dramatically and flops down beside him, “Meal better be bloody worth it.” 

Their lips meet, soft and slow. Against them, Tinsley murmurs, “I’m sure it will be.” 

*

Dinner _is_ pretty good. Although Tinsley feels rushed if because of nothing but the look in Ricky’s eyes- all wild and desperate, not terribly far off the way he looks before a murder (that fact doesn’t worry him, though).

The moment they’re back at the cabin and the door is closed, Ricky’s on him, grabbing him closer and throwing his jacket to the floor.

“Someone’s eager.” Tinsley murmurs, pushing back all the same until Ricky is backed up against the door.

“You made me wait hours.” Ricky retorts through kisses. 

“We had a meal then pleasant- conversation- for a few minutes.” Tinsley points out.

“Yeah too long.” Ricky says, tearing at Tinsley’s shirt buttons. 

Tinskey can’t find the words to argue back, Ricky’s been stealing them all with every kiss and every touch. He shakes his shirt off his arms as he pulls Ricky against him, over to the nearest bed.

*

Ricky falls down beside him on the bed with his eyes closed. The smallest of smiles tries to tug at his lips and it’s so beautiful, so pure, that Tinsley feels weak in the chest. 

“Run away with me.” the words spill out of him before all of his racing thoughts can catch up, “We don’t even need to finish this stupid hunt we can just go, early in the morning before anyone else is even up.” 

“How would we get money?” Ricky asks, eyes fluttering between open and closed, “No, Tins we’d need the treasure.”

Tinsley huffs, “Alright, so we’ll run the moment we have the treasure then.”

“Where would we even go?” 

Tinsley shrugs against the sheets. “I don’t know... we’ll jumpstart a car and see where the road takes us.” 

Ricky smiles a little wider at that, a laugh escaping his throat.

“What? I know how to jumpstart a car y’know. We’ll be outta here before the others even realise we’re gone.” 

Ricky blinks his eyes open. They’ve never looked warmer. Never looked lighter. Brighter. He reaches his hand over to Tinsley’s face and runs his thumb along his stubbled jawline. “I would like that.” he says quietly.

It doesn’t sound like a yes, it sounds like a wish. Tinsley pretends they are one in the same, just to help him fall asleep.

*

Tinsley wakes to incessant pounding on the door, yelling, and movement in the bed. Ricky rolls out of his arms and throws on the nearest clothes- trousers his own, shirt belonging to Tinsley (in fairness their shirts are much the same aside from size- untucked, Tinsley’s shirt reaches almost to Ricky’s knees, the buttons done up badly, all connected wrong).

It’s Holly at the door, yelling _“I know you’re in there!_ ”. Tinsley wonders if she saw them through the window, but if she had, he’s sure she wouldn’t be yelling accusations. Before reaching the door, Ricky messes up the sheets on the other bed, as if to make it seem he’s just risen from that one and not the one where Tinsley lays.

“You hurt him, I know it!”

Ricky yanks open the door. “What do you want?” he snaps, almost a growl. For a moment Holly falls blissfully quiet. 

Tinsley scrambles himself from the bed, slips on trousers and Ricky’s jacket from nearby as Holly fumbles for words.

“Jaden, he’s missing. I _know_ you did something, I know it!”

“I ain’t seen him but I can show you what I could have done to him if I had!” Ricky sets a foot on the step outside the cabin, just before Tinsley pulls him back.

“Woahh, little harsh, Ricky, she’s clearly upset.” Tinsley turns to Holly. He’s unsure if she’s angry or scared but she’s near trembling either way. “Sorry, we’ve just woken up and he’s moody in the mornings, how can we help you Holly?” 

Her eyes narrow slightly, and he can feel Ricky glaring at him too.

“We woke up, and Jaden’s missing.” Holly explains, “He’s probably been killed o-or kidnapped and-”

“Perhaps he went for a walk.” Tinsley offers, “I promise we’ve not seen him. We’ve been asleep the whole night, we were super worn out.” 

“A likely story.” Holly snaps, “You’re clearly hiding something!”

Tinsley closes his eyes and takes a heavy breath. Then he opens them again. “Can you excuse us, one minute? Sixty seconds, you can count if you wish.” he flashes her a smile then hurriedly slams shut the cabin door.

“We gotta tell her.” he says at once to Ricky.

“What? Are you a madman? Why would we tell her?! I don’t even _know_ who she’s on about-”

“Not- not about- we don’t give her the answer she _wants_.” Tinsley says, “We tell ‘er about this.” he waves his fingers between the two of them. 

Ricky looks him up and down. “Is that my jacket?” he asks.

Tinsley sighs, “You’re wearing my shirt!” he retorts, “Anyway, not the point, are you okay with me telling her about us?”

Ricky wrinkles his nose but then, “Fine, but I can’t see it working.” comes out stiffly. Tinsley grins.

“Great. But you stay here.”

He flings the door back open to Holly counting ‘forty-eight’, and nonchalantly steps down the small wooden steps of the cabin and into the leaves. 

“Here’s the thing.” he starts, leading Holly away from the cabin. He glances at Ricky still standing, arms folded in the doorway, then looks back, “Are me and Ricky hiding something? Sure. But it’s not what you think.” 

Holly frowns, “What are you talking about?” 

Tinsley sighs, “Ricky and I we’re…” he can’t really find the right word and his face crinkles as he scrambles to find one, “Intimate? Involved?” 

Holly tilts her head, “You’re a couple.” she checks.

“I wouldn’t say- y’know what? Sure. Yes. Fine. We’re a couple. Me and Ricky. A couple. Two men. In a relationship, yes.” there’s a chance that he’s blushing. The thing is, he realises, that he has never told anyone such a thing, before, only to Eleanor and well, that felt far easier. 

“But... you didn’t know him, before this case, I remember he arrived alone, he knew no one, I couldn’t forget such an entrance!”

Tinsley looks back to where Ricky is still watching, “Neither could I.” he tells Holly before looking back to her, “We just, we were drawn to each other, you know?” 

Holly nods slowly, “But- but I- how could I not consider- I mean- I- I like women- surely I’d have noticed-”

Tinsley shrugs, “It seems you were too set on a theory.” he tells her, before adding, gently, “Not terribly _great_ for a detective to not consider other theories, but you know, we all make mistakes.” 

“Right.” Holly says. She’s quiet now, and she looks smaller. For a moment Tinsley almost feels bad, then he looks back at Ricky and feels stupidly better. “My apologies.”

“No worries!” Tinsley says, “Just, maybe don’t tell anyone, don’t want word to spread to the potential murderer, can’t see that ending too well.” he forces a jokey smile and Holly nods.

“Right.” she says again, “I’ll… see you later.”

She turns and trudges back down to her cabin, swishing her feet through the leaves. Tinsley watches her go for a while, then strides back up to the cabin.

“That actually worked?” Ricky asks and Tinsley closes the door behind him.

“Of course. Always another option before murder.” he says. 

“You didn’t say _that_ at the ice house.” Ricky points out, stepping closer to him. 

“I never said it was the only option.” Tinsley points out, “I just chose the worst possible one. For reasons unknown.” 

Ricky hums slightly and smiles as his eyes fall from Tinsley’s face and drop to his shoulders, chest where the jacket doesn’t cover him. “I like you in my jacket.”

“It’s a bit small.” Tinsley says. 

“You know what I’m thinking?” Ricky asks, dragging his eyes back up to meet Tinsley’s. 

“That we should make the most of the beds?” Tinsley tries.

Ricky grins, “How’d you know that?”

“Oh, I didn’t. Just hoping that’s what you were thinking.” 

“Idiot.” Ricky murmurs, but pulls Tinsley down until their lips meet. 

*

“Ricky…” Tinsley starts, breaking the quiet that, moments before, was filled only by breathing and the occasional bird call outside. He lightly skates his fingers down Ricky’s spine, “Didn’t that assistant fella tell us what time he was reading out the clue this morning?”

“Oh.” Ricky murmurs half into the pillow, “Shit, yeah, eight o’clock I think. Fuck I bet we missed the breakfast too. Was looking forward to that. What is the time?”

Tinsley shuffles over in the bed to read the bedside table behind him. He finds his watch and squints at it. He groans and mutters “Shit.” and plonks the watch back down again.

“What? What is it, what’s the time?” 

“Four past eight.” he says. 

Ricky groans and sits up, “That’s not so bad, maybe he waited for us.”

“He was fairly insistent on people needing to be on time, if I remember correctly?”

“I don’t know I barely listened to a word anyone said last night.” Ricky slips off the bed and pats across the floor in search of his own shirt. 

Tinsely watches for a moment before rolling over and hunting for his own clothes. “Well you’re an idiot.” 

“ _You_ were distracting.” Ricky snaps back. 

“Well that’s not fair!” Tinsley retorts, moving past him to collect his jacket that still lies in a crumpled mess by the door. He gives it a shake before putting it on. 

He looks up at Ricky, shakes his head. “Your collar.” he murmurs, stepping forward so he can fold it back down around his neck.

“I can do it y’know.” Ricky grumbles, but drops the matter when Tinsley steals a kiss from his mouth. 

“We better see if we can catch him.” he says, quickly crossing the room to grab his watch and straighten the bedsheets, before picking up his bag.

They slip out into the morning air once more and Tinsley locks the door behind them with the key from his pocket. 

Fenn’s assistant is counting the keys replaced on the table. Tinsley jingles his own to grab his attention.

“Oh! There you both are! You’re late, I was wondering if I’d have to go and drag you out of the cabin.” he laughs. Tinsley and Ricky don’t. “Uh… anyway, since you’re late I suppose this is where your journey ends boys.”

“What?” Ricky, voice angry. “That’s not fair!”

“Yeah, listen uh, Sir, it’s not our fault. Umm…” he looks at Ricky, who looks back at him blankly, “Ricky wasn’t feeling very well. Must have caught a bug, or something, or probably overate last night.”

The Assistant looks at the shorter man through beady eyes, “He looks well to me.”

“Oh well he’s feeling a little better now.” Tinsley explains. “But oh you should have seen it this morning…”

“You didn’t want to.” Ricky mutters, begrudgingly playing along.

“Well, anyway, point is, it’s not our fault we were late, you see? So can we have the clue, please?”

Fenn’s assistant looks troubled, “I’m sorry boys it’s just the rules! If Mr Fenn ever found out…”

“Oh come onnnn, how would he ever know?”

The man sighs, “Okay. Okay. For a price, then.”

“A price?” Ricky echoes, tone biting. He looks hopefully at Tinsley, as if for permission. 

Tinsley shakes his head at Ricky then removes his bag, hunts for his wallet. He takes out half the notes and holds them out, “Fifty dollars.” he says.

“Fifty?” The assistant echoes, “You know how much the treasure at the end of all of this is worth?”

“Okay…” Tinsley says, thoughtful, “Fifty dollars now… a small cut of the treasure, if we win it.”

“Tinsley!” Ricky starts.

“How much?” 

Tinsley shrugs, “I dunno, a gold bracelet or some shit- if there is gold jewellery among the winnings, I don’t really know what the reward entails if I’m being honest.”

Fenn smiles, “That’s half the fun!” he says, then takes the notes from Tinsley’s firm grip, “Fine. I’ll read the next clue out. One more time. Just once.” 

Tinsley smiles with a forced kind of pleasantness, “Fine.” he agrees, slips his wallet back into his bag, then finds his notebook. He poises his pen, ready, then scrawls,

_There may be a paddle up your creak,_

_But to reach the end without a leak_

_Will stop your adventure looking bleak._

“Brilliant, thank you, Sir- in fact I don’t know your name.”

The man frowns, as though skeptical, then says, “It’s Morris.” 

“Morris!” Tinsley echoes, “Well thank you very much, _Morris_ , we’ll be on our way now, won’t we, Ricky?”

Ricky nods once, reluctant, then turns away slowly. “I could’ve killed him.” he says, quietly when they’re out of earshot.

“Oh and then how would we get the other clues?” Tinsley asks.

“I bet he has them on him somewhere.” Ricky replies, “Anyway, I’m killing him at the end.” 

“Along with me, I suppose.” Tinsley says, somber. Ricky glances at him but doesn’t say anything. 

Their hands brush and Tinsley can’t help but glide his fingers against Ricky’s. Ricky let’s their pinky fingers intertwine, and then their ring fingers, and Tinsley looks over. Ricky’s eyes are shiny, and he blinks hurriedly and glares at the ground.

“Hey.” Tinsley says gently, shaking his hand a little, “What’s the matter?”

“No it’s just-” Ricky wipes his eyes with his free hand, “The last time I ever held anyone’s hand... I’m sorry. It’s dumb.”

Tinsley fixes their hands so they are palm to palm and says, “It’s not dumb.”

Ricky looks at him, “I’d rather not kill you.” 

Tinsley smiles lightly, “Good, good that’s... nice to know. Real reassuring.”

Ricky lets out a breathy laugh, “Come on,” he tugs at Tinsley’s arm to hurry him along, “We have to catch up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed this one! next one probably soon but the plot of the next couple chapters are a little murky in my head so idk lol


	9. I'll Be Yours Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is just them being in love tbh but we have action next chapter i swear

For days, they continue North- as per the  _ up _ in the clue. And it’s… nice. More than nice; it’s everything. The rest of the world fades into the background and all Tinsley has is Ricky Goldsworth and endless bounds of nature. He wishes to have this forever- can’t bear to think about how it may end, and he daren’t bring it up. 

They just walk, talk, eat, talk, sleep. Ricky holds his hand often, sometimes with a curious kind of interest, running his fingers along Tinsley’s knuckles, the creases, the small scar above his wrist where a spiteful stray cat had swiped at him long ago. 

“Your fingers are long.” Ricky murmurs, as they lean against logs by the fire one night.

“Well  _ I’m  _ long.” Tinsley replies, drawing Ricky’s hand to his mouth, lightly kissing his knuckles. “Your fingers are soft.”

“Eh,” Ricky replies, “What use is soft? Fingers like yours… do you know how to play any instruments, Tinsley?” 

“I dabbled with the piano in my youth.” Tinsley replies.

“Don’t say it like you’re an old man.” Ricky says, following it with an eye roll Tinsley can only describe as fond, “Do you remember how to play?”

“I’d probably manage a simple tune.” Tinsley says, “Nothing amazing though, why?”

Ricky looks up at him, eyes shining, and all over again Tinsley wishes to take him away from this universe, keep him all to himself forever. 

“No reason… I just… I think I’d like to see you play.” he says. He continues to run his fingers over the back of Tinsley’s palm and Tinsley watches his face. It seems as if he’s disappeared into a dark cloud of thought. 

“What is it?” he asks quietly. Ricky shrugs, then leans into him, head on his shoulder. 

“Just… that Dan could play the Trombone. I liked watching him, he’d play with his eyes closed, all deep and concentrating.”

“Trombone.” Tinsley echoes, thoughtfully, “It’s not the most romantic of instruments.” 

“No.” Ricky agrees, word almost lost in Tinsley’s shoulder, “But I loved it all the same.” 

“Music certainly has a way of making people fall in love.” Tinsley says after a space of reflective silence, where the cracking of the fire was all that existed to break it. 

“What music do you like, Tinsley?” Ricky asks, his voice heavy. Deciding he must be tired, Tinsley shuffles and lays down, letting Ricky resettle his head on his shoulder. 

While he considers his answer, he slips a hand under his head, propping it up a little more comfortably. The sky looks so far away, a black pool above the trees. 

“I like a lot of music.” he says, “Long piano pieces like Chopin and his raindrops. Miles Davis and jazz, Frank Sinatra… I think he has a voice made to sing of love.” 

Ricky is quiet for so long that Tinsley wonders if he disagrees. And then he secondly wonders if Ricky’s asleep. But eventually, he says, voice dozy, 

“You like music for rainy days.” he rolls onto his side and presses himself closer to Tinsley, “I can’t find the sun either.”

Tinsley stares into the night sky for so long his eyes stung, after that. He doesn’t reply because he hasn’t a clue what to say and Ricky soon falls asleep anyway. Did Ricky mean the music he likes was sad? Jazz wasn’t sad. Jazz was fun; it was for dancing! And then he wonders if Ricky meant he liked all that music too. That they are so impossibly alike that they even find commonality in the simplest of things. 

Music.

He drifts asleep imagining Ricky sitting in an armchair, sipping wine while it rains outside. He imagines him sitting back, closing his eyes and letting Frank Sinatra’s warm smooth melodies wash over him. Somehow it becomes more stifling than any other thought of Ricky ever. Just him, and the music for the rainy days.

*

Ricky’s up at dawn, rousing Tinsley into the sunny morning. He groans.

“It’s too early.” he complains and it’s as though he can  _ hear  _ Ricky’s eye roll. 

Somehow, he’s dragged along to the nearby river. They sit down at the edge and Ricky hands him a long branch.

“Make the end sharp.” he tells him.

Tinsley does so, with his knife but he’s not as good as Ricky, who does the same beside him with his own branch. Ricky notices him struggle when he’s finished on his own, and breaks into a small smile, a noise escaping his mouth that seems to Tinsley like a chuckle.

“Give it here, idiot.” he takes the branch and the knife Tinsley was using and starts to smooth the edges. “You gotta scrape it all the way to the point.” Ricky explains, doing so slowly, to demonstrate. He smooths the wood, little curls growing in front of the knife before falling down into the grassy bank by the river. 

“But that’s what I was doing!” Tinsley argues. Ricky smiles.

“No you weren’t. You were doing really little strokes so it basically looked like you were hacking at it.”

Tinsley frowns, “Not true.” he argues. Ricky shakes his head,

“Whatever, it should be fine now.” he hands it back, “Come on.” 

Tinsley finds himself blindly following him into the shallow rushing water, although he’s not really sure what to do once there. The edges of his trousers, despite being somewhat rolled up, become wet at once. He treads cautiously over the rocks jutting out of the water, stopping just before the middle.

“So.” Ricky starts, “You just, wait for a fish, and stab it.” 

It sounds a bit too easy, and Tinsley frowns skeptically down at the water. It’s rushing so fast it’s hard to catch sight of anything. Ricky plunges his branch suddenly at the water a little way off, making Tinsley jump. Ricky growls in discontent and starts looking around again. 

Tinsley frowns back to the water. It had been easier to leave the hunting to Ricky. It was easier just to watch Ricky get on with it. Not that he doesn’t like Ricky’s want to teach him how to do it, but it feels like a waste of time. He just isn’t made for this. How do you even know if a fish is passing? The water looks almost frothy, bubbles grown in the rush of it, hiding everything beneath.

Then a flash. A silvery, scaly flash that catches the above sunlight. Tinsley doesn’t remember thinking about it, but the next thing he knows, he’s stabbed a fish and lifted it, flapping on the edge of his stick, out of the water. It dies quickly, out of water, totally impaled. Ricky exclaims in surprise and Tinsley looks over at him and grins.

“You did it!” Ricky splashes over, “Before I got one? That’s not fair!”

“Beginner’s luck.” Tinsley says with a nonchalant shrug. Then he looks up the stick to the long silvery, speckled trout, “What do I do with this?” 

*

After they’d eaten, they set off for the day, strolling through the trees, over little hills, treading through old pathways where twigs and dying leaves have hidden the ground. 

Eventually, they come out into a small town. It’s more just a road, with buildings leaning against one another, small and tired, some of the rooves sunken, wooden fronts bending. They have a late lunch in a small cafe with a low ceiling and small, close together tables. It’s quiet inside and Tinsley doesn’t see any need for concern, when Ricky intertwines their legs under the table, for the table is so small that their legs have no choice but to brush anyway. Besides,who is going to see them?

Music, monotonous jazz, hums on in the background from a radio behind the counter. Tinsley thinks it is all so perfect that the world must be against him. Perhaps it’s mocking him. It’s everything he can’t have. He knows that.

Only across the road, is an inn, taller than the other buildings with a freshly painted sign hanging out of the wall. Ricky looks at him and he looks back. What a terribly missed opportunity it would be, not to spend just one more night in a bed. 

There’s a bored looking woman behind the counter inside. Tinsley leans against it to smile at her. She looks hesitant, glances up and down at him. 

“Can I help you?” She asks, a little stiff.

“Do you have any rooms free for tonight? Just one night, we’re passing through you see.” 

“Separate rooms?” she glances behind Tinsley to where Ricky stands, arms folded over his chest, looking a little moody. 

“One is fine.” he says, then clears his throat and stands up straight, “Separate beds of course.”

“Right.” The woman flips over some papers in a folder beside her, “Yes we have two rooms, both twin bed, would one of those be okay?”

Tinsley leans once more, against the counter to smile at her, “Just perfect.” he says, feeling Ricky creep up beside him. 

“So where are you heading, not many pass through here.” she says, scrawling something on the files. 

“Oh we’re actually on a treasure hunt, Forrest Fenn’s.” Tinsley says.

“Oh yes I’ve heard of that! How is it going?” The woman suddenly looks alive, relaxes her shoulders and smiles. 

“Fine.” Ricky replies sharply before Tinsley can. 

The woman looks between the two of them, a curious frown on her face. “What are you gonna do when you find the treasure?” she asks, “Also can I take a name?”

“Sure, it’s Tinsley.” Tinsley replies, “And we’re gonna split it, of course.” he doesn’t want to see Rick’s reaction, but he’s leaning against Tinsley so much that the taller man can feel him tense. 

“Not gonna do a runner?” she asks, a laugh beneath her words.

Tinsley lets out a breathy laugh, “No.” he says, “Although if I found the right person to do a runner  _ with-”  _ he says, eyes dancing around the woman’s face. He feels Ricky’s glare boring into the side of his face.

“Can we just have the keys and get a move on?” Ricky snaps, wiping the shy, embarrassed smile at once from the woman’s face.

“Of course” she says, scrabbling about the desk before she finds the right one. 

Ricky jams a wad of notes onto the counter in exchange for the key. “Keep the change.” he orders, before storming down the hall to the thin winding staircase. Tinsley casts a final smile to the woman, deciding not to push it with a wink, before hurrying towards the stairs after Ricky. 

He doesn’t catch up with him until they’re on the first floor. A small little corridor with white walls and tired looking paintings envelopes them. Ricky’s angrily shoving the key into the lock of the room at the end ofthe corridor; room number five.

“Ricky, jeez calm down.” 

Ricky opens the door and quickly slips inside, slamming the door behind him. The thing is, Tinsley had gotten his foot into the doorway, and the door slams harshly into his boot. 

“Ouch! Ricky!” 

Ricky hurriedly pushes the door back open. “I’m sorry.” he rushes, “I didn’t mean to hurt you-”

“Right.” Tinsley says, slipping into the room with a dramatised limp.

“Does it really hurt?” Ricky asks, “Here, sit down.” he guides Tinsley to the bed and sits him down. He kneels down and begins to tug off Tinsley’s boot. 

“What is your problem?” Tinsley asks, innocently.

“Like you don’t know.” Ricky snaps back, yanking Tinsley’s sock off and tossing it somewhere behind him. He frowns but leans forward, analysing the foot for damage. There’s a slight reddened dent but no blood. Although generally, Tinsley’s foot looks sore, covered in blisters. “Jesus do you even wash your feet? Rub a lotion on them?”

“There are lotions for feet?” Tinsley echoes.

“Christ.” Ricky says with a sigh, sliding his bag from his shoulder, onto the floor beside him. He roots around in it for a while before pulling out a small bottle. “Here.” he stands up and thrusts it into Tinsley’s lap, before taking his bag and crossing to the other bed.

There isn’t much space between the two beds, separated only by a little nightstand.. The bedding is white with daintily painted flowers printed across it. Ricky dumps his bag on it then sits loudly beside it, removing his own boots. 

“What exactly are you mad at? You still haven’t explained.” Tinsley asks as he rubs the lotion into his foot. He hadn’t realised quite how bad they were, knew they ached and he possibly had perhaps one or two blisters, but his skin is raw and red, bubbling with sores. It’s possibly too late for lotion, but he uses it anyway, it’s nice and cold at least. 

“You were antagonising me on purpose. It’s not funny.” Ricky says, standing up and shrugging off his jacket. Then he crosses the room to hang it on the hook on the door.

“Antagonising  _ how _ ?” Tinsley pushes, because he wants Ricky to say it. 

Ricky hangs the jacket and turns around, “You were  _ flirting _ .” he says. Behind him, his jacket falls off the hook. The man closes his eyes, takes a breath, and turns around to pick it back up, “I told you, I didn’t want to be messed with.” 

“It’s not like I meant it!” Tinsley replies, starting to rub the lotion into his other foot. Ricky doesn’t look relaxed in anyway by this so he sighs and stops rubbing in the lotion, looking up at him, “Look. We’re two men staying in a cosy little village inn, in the same room, I just  _ thought _ a little bit of flirting would make it look less…  _ dubious _ ?  _ Intimate? _ I don’t know.” 

Ricky blinks at him, “Well you could have said.” he answers. 

“I know. I’m sorry.” Tinsley watches Ricky huff and head back across the room, “Mad at anything else?”

Ricky doesn’t answer at first. but lifts the flap of his bag overly violently, so it thwacks down against the back of the fabric. “No.” he says.

Tinsley pivots on the bed to face him, although Ricky has his back to him. “Well you obviously are.”

Ricky roots around in his bag as he answers, “I just hope you know that we aren’t splitting the treasure.” he answers, making Tinsley exhale a short laugh.

“I know that.” he says, “And honestly I don’t even care about the treasure.”

Ricky whirls around to face him at last, “Why?” he’s frowning and Tinsley finds it frustratingly cute. 

“ _ Because _ .” Tinsley starts, “Although millions of dollars sounds wonderful it’s not really why I did all this.” 

“Then… why?”

Tinsley remembers something from the beginning, his Professor, asking him why he was there. At the time he’d not even really thought about it, but, well, it feels obvious now, “I was bored, Ricky. I had this empty house where loneliness clung to me and when I saw the ad for the hunt in the paper I just… I thought it would be nice for me to get out, you know?”

Ricky’s quiet for a moment, staring at him. Tinsley doesn’t know how to read him, even now. “Oh.” he says, “But you’re so… motivated.”

Tinsley shrugs, and stands up on his sore feet (now slightly gooey from cream). “Well I dunno I still want to win.” he tells Ricky, slipping his hands around the man’s waist gently. He’s relieved when Ricky doesn’t shove him away. 

“But there's nothing in it for you.” the shorter man says. His eyes are so wide as they stare back at Tinsley, as if they’ve grown to take in the whole of the universe in front of him. 

“There’s everything in it for me, if you win.” Tinsley says, quietly. 

“But-”

“No hear me out I- I know, that you will likely be going home and… I want to know that the people you return to will be proud and happy and not… angry? I’d never cease worrying.” 

Ricky sighs and their foreheads collide. “I wish you wouldn’t… say things like that.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry I’ll take the words back.” he nudges his nose forward so it collides with Ricky’s. It lures Ricky closer.

It’s the softest, sweetest kiss they’ve ever shared. When Tinsley pulls away his fingers feel like they are trembling and he feels so full, so overcome with feeling that, for a moment, nothing else exists. Ricky’s eyes are almost black when they flutter open. It’s so slow that Tinsley forgets all about time, too. A man who has so clearly acted like he was empty of all emotion, now stands in front of him so full of feeling that Tinsley is sure he may even overflow with it. 

He’s murmuring in the silence before his brain catches him, “Ricky, I-” his words tremble before dying, mercifully on his tongue. He sighs and leans down, pulls Ricky back up into another kiss instead. 

When his legs feel quite as though they might give way, he likes to think he falls back onto the bed entirely gracefully. 

*

It’s a perfect evening. Tinsley wishes he hated it- but he couldn’t if he tried. They bath together, leave their washed clothes to dry and curl up in one of the beds. It’s not quite dark outside yet and Tinsley turns the small radio on the bedside table on. Tell Me Your Mine warbles through the fuzzy speaker into the room. He turns the volume until it’s barely a murmur in the background. 

After some calm silence, Ricky rolls back into Tinsley’s side, gently pressing kisses to his neck, skating his hand down Tinsley’s chest. Tinsley sighs shakily, breath brushing through Ricky’s hair. 

“God you’re relentless.” Tinsley murmurs, catching Ricky’s hand before it slips any lower, “Aren’t you exhausted?  _ And _ we just bathed.” 

Ricky grins down at him, “Have I already tired you out?” 

“We’ve been walking every day for weeks, forgive me for having less energy than usual.” Tinsley replies.

Ricky slips back down beside him with a small huff. “I suppose we should probably conserve some energy for the final stretch.” he agrees. Still, his hand wanders back to Tinsley’s chest, drawing patterns between small hairs. 

“If you were an animal what animal do you think you’d be? Not what you’d  _ want  _ to be. What you actually would be.” Ricky explains quietly.

Tinsley stares at the ceiling. “God, I don’t know.” he can feel Ricky watching him through bright, amused eyes. “A giraffe?”

Ricky snorted, “Why a giraffe?!”

“I’m tall!” Tinsley replies, smiling when Ricky continues to giggle, “What?”

“Nothing, it's just not what I expected you to say.”

“Why what did you expect me to say?”

Ricky shrugs, “I mean I was imagining you as a cat.”

“Not an owl?”

“Ha. Ha.” Ricky says, bluntly. “No, a cat. You like sleeping, you pretend you’re independent but need someone get you your food-”

By the time Tinsley shoves him, Ricky’s smirking, and giggles when Tinsley pushes him away. 

“You’re unbelievable!” Tinsley says, giving Ricky a final mocking shove in his side.

“Alright! Alright!” Ricky pants. If he rolls any further he’ll fall off the bed. Tinsley scoops him back against him and mumbles into the back of his neck;

“What animal do you think you’d be?” 

He feels Ricky intertwine their hands. It makes his chest ache. 

“I think a tiger.” Ricky answered.

“Tiger’s a cat, Ricky.” Tinsley tells him, pressing his forehead against the back of Ricky’s head, rubbing against the short hairs there. He drops a kiss between his shoulder blades.

“I know. But it doesn’t mind getting his paws dirty.” 

“Unbelievable.” Tinsley murmurs, but he’s not offended enough this time to push Ricky away- he’s too comfortable. 

“Well what do you think I’d be?” Ricky asked, after a while where only Eddie Fisher’s voice was heard murmuring through the radio. 

“A dog maybe?” 

“Boring.”

“No no hear me out…” Tinsley starts, “You’re excitable, you’re loyal-”

“Am I?”

“Yeah.” Tinsley replies, “I mean look what you’re obediently doing for your father.”

“Less loyalty, more fear of punishment.”

“Some dogs are treated like that.” Tinsley points out, kisses one of Ricky’s shoulder blades, then the other. “Not that they  _ should  _ be.” 

Ricky sighs and falls quiet. 

“Sorry if I… brought the mood down.” Tinsely says after a while. The radio DJ rambles about the song that had finished. It may as well be white noise.

“You didn’t.” Ricky replies, “Just tired.” 

“And you said  _ you  _ tired  _ me  _ out.” 

Ricky playfully kicks his foot back against Tinsley’s leg under the cover. Tinsley chuckles against his skin. 

“You know what I miss?” Ricky asks. Doris Day’s light voice flows around the room, gentle and pretty.

“What?”

“Freshly washed silk pyjamas.” 

Tinsley laughs softly, “Why is that  _ so  _ you?” 

“Oh like I’m the only one that wears them.” 

“Most of us wear cotton, you know.” Tinsley retorts. 

“Well not in my family!” Ricky replies.

Tinsley rolls his eyes, even though he knows Ricky can’t see, “I’d expect nothing less from the Goldsworths.” 

“Exactly.” Ricky replies, voice soft, smooth, like silk itself. 

*

They talked for hours before they fell asleep. Tinsley starts awake at 2 in the morning and discovers the radio still on, Frank Sinatra whispering of heaven. He rolls over as best he can with Ricky pressed into his side, and reaches his long arm over to feel for the switch. 

The room plunges into silence and he folds himself back into place besides Ricky. He sleeps so peacefully, Ricky Goldsworth, as though he has never hurt anyone and no one has ever hurt him. He doesn’t wake up. Tinsley soon drifts back to sleep. 

When he wakes in the morning, Ricky isn’t in his arms. Ricky isn’t in the bed at all. Usually this didn’t concern him, Ricky often went out in the morning, but not when they were in a bed. He rolls over, away from the empty space in the bed and finds Ricky at the window, leaning against the wall beside it and staring out through a crack in the curtain. 

His arms are folded and he’s fully dressed aside from his jacket. 

“Good morning.” Ricky says, without turning to look at him. 

Tinsley hesitates before replying, “Hi.” he says, then slips out of the bed, steps down the gap between it and the neighbouring bed, and crosses to Ricky. He hugs him from behind, around the waist. He’s tense, Tinsley notices.

“Everything okay?” he asks, quietly. 

“Yeah.” Ricky replies, “Except that this is the deadest town I’ve ever seen. No one’s setfoot down the road in over 20 minutes.”

“Well it’s not even-” he pauses to look at his watch, “-seven in the morning, Ricky.”

“But still, I’d have expected at least one person.”

Tinsley shrugs and moves his head to Ricky’s neck, “Small town.” he murmurs before pressing a gentle kiss there. Then he pulls back, “That all that’s bothering you?”

Ricky cranes his head around to face him, then turns his body around too, to make for an easier angle. “Only that… I get the feeling we’re nearly there.” 

“I see.” Tinsley says, realising that this isn’t so much an angry Ricky, or a worried Ricky, but quite possibly a sad Ricky, “I don’t- I’ll miss this time, too, you know.” He doesn’t know exactly how he’s going to go back home after all this. Like nothing ever happened. 

Ricky drops his head into Tinsley’s chest, cheek against his heavy heartbeat. And Tinsley welcomes him, wraps his arms around him and rests his chin on Ricky’s head. 

“Tinsley?”

“Mm?”

“If you flirt with that receptionist again when we leave, I  _ will _ kill her.” 

Tinsley unwillingly lets out a laugh, “I’ll be on my best behaviour.” 

He feels Ricky smile against his chest. “Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is way later bc idk i feel like the jump between some scenes is meh but i didn't know how to do it any different??? lol but i hope it's okay, will update soon hopefully, thank you for reading :)


	10. Refuse to Lose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally updated woooooo! i do kind of hate this chapter but the next two should be better and I'll post them at the same time. hope you enjoy!!

_ There may be a paddle up your creak, _

_ But to reach the end without a leak _

_ Will stop your adventure looking bleak. _

The clue brings them out to a huge winding river, rushing between the cliffs and weaving around trees. Lined up along the river edge are little rowing boats, each looking battered and a little unsafe. There is no one else around but there is a gap in the line of boats and a line in the dirt leading to the river edge where the bottom of the boat had scraped.

Ricky growls and kicks at the ground, “Someone got here before us.” he complains.

Tinsley was already pushing the neighbouring boat into the water. “So let’s catch up?” Ricky storms over.

Inside the little rowing boat are two oars and a small wooden bucket. Ricky eyes it suspiciously when he gets in.

“What’s this for?” he asks.

Tinsley pushes the boat onto the water and climbs in. The craft rocks as he sits down and takes up the oars, since Ricky clearly wasn’t going to. They don’t get very far until they discover what the bucket is for. Tinsley’s feet start to feel wet.

“Shit.”Tinsley says before hurriedly looking around the boat for the leak. He finds it, a crack between the old wooden slats and quickly throws his jacket off to stuff it in the hole.

“So  _ that’s  _ what this is for?” Ricky says, lifting up the bucket he’d only been fiddling with. Tinsley casts him a flat look.

“Do you wanna use it?” 

Ricky just grins and rolls his eyes. But then he starts to bail out the water, and to be fair, he’s pretty efficient at it, even has time to yell at Tinsley every five seconds to row faster. If Tinsley rowed any faster… he’s sure his arms would fall off- they’re already burning. 

“Oh my god!” Ricky says not long later, looking briefly over Tinsley’s shoulder, “I can see the other boat! We can overtake them.” 

Tinsley looks back to see the boat for himself and Ricky slaps his forearm, “Don’t look just row!” he snaps, then resumes scooping out the water. 

He’s not exactly a professional rower, and he desperately wants to do this more calmly, appreciate the views of the high cliffs and mountains, the pine trees and the way the water rushes against the rocks at the edges of the river. But he can’t appreciate it for more than half a second before Ricky is snapping at him to hurry up. 

Not that Ricky is in anyway intimidating anymore. He seems instead like a frustrated little puppy; it’s almost endearing.

They keep gaining on the boat ahead of them. They can hear the shouts and screams from inside as they urge their rower to go faster. There are at least four people in the boat, which is good for Ricky and Tinsley because it means their boat is lighter and therefore faster.

They catch up, bump near their boat, causing a graunching scraping noise. And then they’re ahead. Tinsley sees the shine of the knife as Ricky slips it back into his pocket. Ah. He’d stabbed their boat- hence the scraping noise Tinsley supposes. He looks up over the man’s shoulder to find that the boat is indeed sinking much faster now.

“CHEEAAAT!” one of the women shouts, a lower man’s voice backs her up. 

“You didn’t need to do that.” Tinsley says quietly.

Ricky shrugs, “But it was funny. So worth it.” he can’t hide his smirk. If Tinsley wasn’t still rowing like mad he’d throw the oars away, lean forward and kiss that smirk from Ricky’s lips. 

After a while, Tinsley slows his rowing. There was no one else about and the current of the water pulled them along nicely anyway. Plus, his arms were aching awfully. He kept trying to offer the oars to Ricky but he kept refusing, of course. 

Eventually, they see the end ahead of them, and just as well because behind them, over Ricky’s shoulder, Tinsley spies another boat approaching. It is, of course, no other than:

“Holly Horsely.” Tinsley says, making Ricky whip his head around at once, like a dog on high alert for a rabbit. 

“Shit, shit, hurry up!” 

“I am!”

Tinsley starts to speed up his rowing again, even though his arms scream at him not to. Every few seconds he glances over his shoulder, sure that they’d have reached the sandy looking bank by now but everytime he finds it still hundreds of metres away. His feet are also frozen. Ricky’s started slacking on the bucket and the water is beginning to seep into Tinsley’s shoes. 

“Ricky what’s the hold up?” Tinsley demands, “We’re gonna sink!”

“Relax, I’m timing it perfectly my love.”

He’s never called Tinsley that before. Tinsley’s certain he begins to blush.  _ My love _ .  _ Love _ . But not just  _ love _ ;  _ Ricky’s  _ love. 

Finally, the bank was just a few metres off. When the water starts to shallow, Ricky jumps out, stumbling over the bow and falling slightly into the shallow water. Tinsley finds no time to laugh at him. Holly’s boat is still extremely close and they just want to grab the next clue and be on their way. He flies out the boat too, half-tumbles his way up the sandy bank. 

Sticking out of the off-coloured sand (where the odd patch of grass springs out of) are shovels.

“Where’s the clue?” Ricky starts, looking all around him, “And where the hell is the assisi- oh there he is.” 

Tinsley follows Ricky’s eyeline back into a clump of pine trees. The Assisstant, Morris, leans against one of them, observing everything. Holly’s shouting gets nearer, suddenly and it snaps Tinsley out of it.

“Doesn’t matter, we clearly have to dig up the clue come on.”

They both grab one of the many shovels in the dirt and begin to dig. Ricky digs exactly where his shovel had been sticking up and hits something hard far quicker than Tinsley. He shouts and Tinsley drops his shovel and rushes over.

“I’ve got something- a box I think?”

“Imagine if it was the treasure!” Tinsley says, dropping to his knees and scraping away the rest of the sand with his hands. Ricky soon joins him.

“Probably just a box with another clue in. I think we’ll know when we’re on the last clue.” Ricky replies before grabbing at an edge of the small box and dragging it out. 

Holly’s boat begins to pull up on the bank. Ricky shoves open the wooden box and a small piece of parchment sits rolled up inside.

“Got it, let’s go!” Ricky snatched the paper and hurries off without a moment’s wait for Tinsley. Tinsley takes a moment as he stands up and brushes away the sand to meet eyes with Holly. Although she is the other side of the bank, Tinsley’s pretty sure that she’s glaring, hard and angry. Does she know what Ricky did to that other boat? He tries in vain to force a smile Holly’s way, and then turns and hurries off to catch up with Ricky who had already been swallowed up into the small forest of pine trees.

*

_ End it where the great cliffs halt _

_ From the top you should find the vault _

The clue, scrawled in fancy writing on the parchment paper lies discarded beside the two men. Ricky’s crawled onto Tinsley’s lap, straddling him and pressing his body into the log he’s leaning against. Tinsley doesn’t mind, keeps tugging him closer by his belt loops. He doesn’t want to leave this man, not ever. If he could just kiss him, touch him in every exact way that Ricky wants, then maybe Ricky will change his mind. 

Still though, he’s also a little mad at him for earlier, so when Ricky runs kisses down his neck, he brings the fact back up again.

“I still can’t believe you sunk that boat.” he murmurs, running his fingers along Ricky’s hairline.

“We won didn’t we?” Ricky’s breath is warm against his neck. 

“It’s not like we  _ had  _ to get to the shore first.” Tinsley replies.

Ricky sits back and takes in Tinsley’s face slowly, his eyes, his stubble, his lips. 

“You know what I think, Tinsley?” he murmurs, leaning closer so Tinsley can almost taste his hot breath. He doesn’t wait for Tinsley’s reply, “I think you’ve spent so long following the rules, that you’ve forgotten how easy and how  _ fun  _ it is to break them.”

“Well technically, your breaking rules is ultimately just your way of  _ following  _ your Father’s rules.”

“That’s different.” Ricky replies, “Anyway, I’m breaking his rules right now.” he leans down and steals another kiss. One that’s slow and lingering, one that feels like it might never have to end. 

Tinsley pulls away, “And is that fun?” he raises his eyebrows. Ricky smiles.

“I wouldn’t describe it as fun exactly.” his smile drops as he takes in Tinsley’s face again. His eyes shine. He drops his voice to a whisper as he admits, amongst the crackling of the fire, “It’s everything.” 

He sounds almost sad but Tinsley doesn’t have much time to take note of it before Ricky kisses him again. Tinsley thinks about rules and of breaking them. Long ago rules about things they should and shouldn’t do in a forest. 

It could be fun… 

*

The cliffs Tinsley can find on the map that seem to match the clue, are only a couple of days away. Everytime Tinsley tries to stall, Ricky hurries them up. He keeps going on about how this final stretch is the most important. He tries to make Tinsley run in some places, but after tripping over a tree root ten minutes in, Tinsley draws a line under it. 

And two days later, a late and overcast afternoon, they reach the cliffs. It might have been beautiful but Ricky doesn’t give them any moments to take in the views. And there’s a weedy man in a suit at the edge of the cliff to distract them from the rest of the surroundings. 

“You two! You’re here first, congratulations!”

“Yeah where is it?” Ricky snaps, looking all around the grassy cliff top as though expecting the treasure to be anywhere right in front of him. 

“The treasure? Oh no, there’s a final clue first.”

“What? Give it.” Ricky darts forward and Tinsley hurriedly lays a hand in front of his chest to hold him back.

The assistant clears his throat and fixes his bowtie. “Well.” he starts, “First of all, if you remember, you owe me a fraction and  _ secondly _ , I can’t give you the final clue anyway.

“What?” Ricky and Tinsley say in unison. Tinsley drops his hand from Ricky’s chest.

“Well, to put it mildly… you cheated!” 

Ricky and Tinsley glance at each other.

“We have no idea what you’re talking about.” Tinsley replied.

“No? So slept in hostels overnight- not to mention whatever you  _ did  _ in those hostels was breaking the  _ law _ , you  _ destroyed  _ a fellow contestant’s boat the other day  _ and  _ I’ve been reliably informed that you’re responsible for all these murders around the-”

Tinsley grabs him by the neck and thrusts his body out over the cliff edge. The man’s left flailing, kicking his legs as if it may help him to defy gravity. 

“The clue,  _ Morris _ , what is it?” Tinsley demands. The assistant shakes his head so Tinsley squeezes his throat a little harder. He lets out a squeak and then a raspy

_ “Pockettt _ .”

“What?” Ricky frowns.

Tinsley rolls his eyes, “Pocket. The clue is in his pocket, honey, keep up.”

“Please.” Morris keeps flailing, his legs keep kicking, he seems almost cartoonish. Ricky reaches his arm over the cliff, treading right against the edge of the rock to reach into his pockets. He rifles around in both trouser ones until he pulls out some cards. The same cue cards from the beginning. 

“Got them.” He tells Tinsley. 

With that, Tinsley lets go his grip. Morris yelps as he plummets down and down and down. Tinsley leans over the edge to watch him land in a slump at the edge of the water, crumpling on the rocks. 

“What the hell!” Ricky snaps, throwing the cards behind him and running over, “I wanted to do that!”

Tinsley shrugs, “Who cares, we have the clue.” he glances over the grass to where Ricky tossed them all, “They’re gonna blow away now!” he hurries over and picks up a few. 

Ricky grabs his arm and hauls him back to his feet.

“Ow, careful.” Tinsley snaps, ripping his arm from Ricky’s tight grip. 

“I wanted to kill him. You know I’ve been waiting for that since the start.” 

“Dude you’ve killed nearly everyone on this stupid hunt, I can have this one guy.” 

“Oh so this whole thing was  _ stupid _ , to you?” 

Tinsley frowns, “I mean, yeah, a little bit.” suddenly he registers Ricky’s point, “Oh.  _ Oh, _ well obviously meeting  _ you  _ wasn’t stupid.”

“Knife.” Ricky demands. Tinsley blinks.

“Come again?”

“Knife. Your knife, give me it.” Ricky holds out his hands expectantly. 

“Don’t you have at least two?”

“Yeah but I’m not losing mine down the side of a cliff forever, give.” he beckons for it with his fingers.

Tinsley sighs and pulls off his rucksack. “When the clues blow away because you wanted to kill a man for the second time then  _ I’ll  _ be the one laughing.” He finds his knife, wrapped in a cloth at the bottom. He unwraps it and stands up to hand it over to Ricky. 

Ricky snatches it from him and stalks back to the edge of the cliff. He peers over the edge. Out of sheer curiosity, Tinsley joins him. Ricky takes aim before throwing the object straight down as hard as he can. Though small and hard to see, the knife lands square in Morris’ chest. 

Tinsley nods in approval. “Good shot.” he says. Ricky nods.

Then, immediately, his attention falls back to the cards. They spend a couple of minutes jumping round the grass grabbing at them. They’re all clues they’ve read before, about crowns and water high and stupid little creaks. 

“Here!” Ricky shouts suddenly from a few meters away. He scrambles to his feet. “If you’ve been lucky and found the blaze, take a look down, one final gaze.”

“Blaze?” Tinsley echoes, strolling over to Ricky and snatching the card from him. He frowns, “Blaze.” he looks all around him.

“And why does it say lucky?” 

There’s white cliff edges and white and grey clouds. There’s tall pine trees and the grass under their feet. There’s slow flowing water running down the canyon. But a blaze…

“Might be able to actually see  _ something _ if the sun showed it’s face.” Ricky mutters. Then, in union with Tinsley, his eyes light up.

“The sun!” 

“Where would it be right now, if it was out?”

“It rises in the east so but it’s afternoon now so… somewhere nearer the West?” Tinsley fumbles through his pockets and finds his compass. It’s cold under his touch but that doesn’t matter. He pulls it out and turns it so that North matches up with the dial. It points straight ahead for North, which means that the West was somewhere to their left.

“Over there, it would be somewhere up there!” Tinsley points high up in the sky somewhat west. The clouds do look slightly brighter there, as though the sun is trying to break through. 

“Okay, so then what? Look quickly down? Like down where the sun would be pointing?” 

They turned their gazes to the right, down across the cliffs.

Not too far in the distance, the water dwindles, thins. The cliffs lower too, heading down and down hill until…

“A cave. Down there look.” Ricky points.

Indeed, just about where the water gives up, a gaping hole in the cliffs sits. Tinsley is only just getting it into his eye line, when Ricky hurries off towards it, essentially running down the grassy clifftop. Tinsley takes a deep heavy breath.

The beginning of the end weighs heavy on his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping to finish it before the new year but I'm also suuuuper busy with uni work at the moment and i want to do some sd&d&d christmas stuff too so i don't know. but yeah I hope this chapter was ok it was the most annoying chapter to write lol


	11. Rip My Heart Out (And Leave)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm kinda ?? really not satisfied with how I've written the descriptions at the start of this but idk how to change it so I hope its okay!

With every step, they near the cave. The clouds in the sky are darkening, growing heavy, feeling like they may burst. The wind picks up as they trudge down the grass, the water growing closer and closer as the cliffs get thinner and thinner and the ground comes nearer.

Tinsley has a difficult job keeping up with Ricky. He’s walking with the mystery and purpose he had way back at the start. Concentrated and in his own world. The world where he wins and the rest of the universe loses. 

They reach the foot of the cliffs. Ricky doesn’t hesitate before crossing the water’s edge and splashing through the tail ends of the river towards the cave. The entrance seems to rise out of the ground, bursting out of the low cliffs. The blackness pulls them in. 

The river runs through it in a thin and weedy stream. Ricky steps over it and into the back of the cave, Tinsley moments behind him, watching his footing and not wanting to slip. It’s dark inside. Tinsley pauses and shuffles through his bag to find his torch.

Ricky’s quiet, further in and round the corner of the cave, entirely out of sight now. Tinsley flicks his torch on and follows him in. Rock’s are piled high in the back of the cave. In the torchlight, gold gleams and glimmers from it’s place draped down the rocks. Jewellery and trinkets, scattered. Tinsley creeps up besides Ricky, who doesn't move or even glance at him. A wooden box is overflowing with gold and silver. Diamonds beaming under the torch light.

“Holy shit,” Tinsley murmurs. He glances at Ricky, “We actually did it.” 

Ricky nods slowly, numbly picking up a small diamond and rubbing his fingers along it. It feels unsettling, his silence. Tinsley searches the treasure too, picks up a thick torc bracelet, heavy with gold. He slips it on. It’s tight and cold on his wrist. 

Ricky’s watching him. His gaze is heavy, and when Tinsley turns, his eyes are unreadable, low under the light. Tinsley nudges his face down, closer. It makes Ricky sigh. When their foreheads knock, Ricky’s hand slips up to Tinsley’s cheek, rubbing his thumb along his skin, then down to his thick stubble. 

Tinsley searches his eyes. They’re black in the dim light, his torch is pointing at the ground, doing nothing. He can’t read Ricky, the black of his eyes or the line formed on his lips. 

“What now?” Tinsley asks. 

“This.” Ricky replies, before pulling him down and kissing him gently. So gently. Like Tinsley is something that may break, may fall apart in a moment. 

And Ricky’s warm. So warm, he forgets, about his torch that slips from his fingers and clatters to the floor, plunging the cave into darkness. He forgets about the gold and the treasure and everything about the word ‘end’. Ricky kisses him harder, pushing him and pushing him and until they tumble backwards. 

Tinsley’s back lands awkwardly against the rocky cave wall. It’s sharp, digs into his back. He doesn’t care. He thinks about Ricky running away with him. He thinks about never going back home. He thinks about having Ricky forever and ever but... 

It’s cold on his throat. Sharp. The moment Ricky pulls his lips away, a knife presses against his neck. Ricky’s eyes black. Tinsley’s heart hammering. He’s confused more than anything.

“Ricky…” He wants to ask what he’s doing and he wants to ask why. He can’t find the words. 

And Ricky’s just standing. Staring. His eyes are hard and cold as they dance about his face. Never did he ever think such browns could look so empty. 

“I- I don’t understand- Ricky you don’t-” he swallows, “you don’t need to do this.” 

“Oh I do.”

“No. No you can have the treasure. I don’t want it, I don’t even care.”

“Liar.” Ricky presses the blade harder against his neck. Tinsley draws a breath.

Ricky’s eyes flash and Tinsley feels the ache in his chest. “But you’re- you’re not gonna kill me.”

“No?” The tip of the knife digs into Tinsley’s skin. 

“No.” he sighs and hopes he’s right. “Don’t you see? You can’t kill me, you won’t.” he reaches up his hand and pushes it through Ricky’s hair. It needs a cut, it doesn’t stick up anymore, flops to one side. 

“Why not?” he sounds more confused than angry.

“Oh sweetheart,” Tinsley pulls at his hair, “You love me.” 

Ricky’s jaw clenches. The knife stops pricking his skin but still sits there, like a dog waiting to bite. “That’s not true.”

“No, no it’s okay, it’s  _ good _ , Ricky. It means you’re free, you know, of him-”

“I’m never free of him!” Ricky snaps, the sudden anger causing the blade to press back into Tinsley’s skin. Tinsley leans his head back as far as he can as if to steer away from the cold metal. “You think that you saved me? Changed me? A few kisses and I’ve fallen at your feet?”

“Haven’t you?”

Ricky swallows. Tinsley wants to beg because it doesn’t have to be like this. They can run away, they can go anywhere and Ricky’s family, all the way back on their little island off the English coast, would never be any the wiser. Why won’t he see it? Why can’t he believe it?

“Listen,  _ Charles _ , I’m going to slit your throat, watch the light drain from your eyes and then take all this gold and leave you in its place, okay?”

Tinsley swallows. He doesn’t believe him. Doesn’t or can’t, he isn’t sure. “Okay.” he hears himself say, barely more than a whisper. 

“What?” Ricky frowns.

“Do it.” he swallows again. Does he want to die? For so long it was all he could think about. He might meet Eleanor again, at least, it would be the closest he may ever get to her. He doesn’t feel like that man anymore. That man that was hers.. “It- it doesn’t matter, Ricky. I don’t care about the gold and honestly I don’t care about this world if I can’t share it with you.” 

“Don’t. Don’t say that.”

“Why? You love me and I’m… I worry that you’ll do something you’ll regret-”

“I never regret a murder.” Ricky hisses.

“No? Not even Dan?”

“What?” Ricky stands back, lowering the knife. Tinsley relaxes, eases his back from the rock digging into him. He could run but he doesn’t. “You think I killed Dan?”

“You didn’t?” 

“I  _ loved  _ him,” Ricky replies. “How could I- I could never- I wouldn’t-” he was stumbling over words like he’d never spoken a sentence before. Never has Tinsley seen him so confused. It takes him a moment, too. He thought Ricky killed Dan. That that was why he spoke of always thinking of him but... if he loved Dan and never even considered killing him all this time…

Tinsley laughs, “Oh.  _ Oh _ .” It’s a strange euphoric relief that makes him laugh again. He leans his head back against the cave wall. 

“Why are you laughing, what’s so funny?”

“I just,” he wheezes at the ceiling, “I just think it’s funny that you still think you’re gonna kill me.”

“I am gonna kill you.”

“Well you sure are taking your time about it-”

Ricky plunges forward. It’s so fast Tinsley doesn’t know what he’s doing until he’s too late. Until he’s collapsing forward, face into Ricky’s shoulder. All of his insides feel like burning. Someway below his chest, a blade slides out. 

He can’t hold himself up. As careful as he had kissed him mere minutes ago, Ricky lowers him to the ground, hushing him quietly. 

Tinsley can barely breathe, his heart flounders. He’s dizzy. He finds Ricky’s eyes and they’re shiny. 

“Ricky…”

Ricky says nothing but stands up. He tosses the knife, still swamped with Tinsley’s blood, to the floor beside him and moves to the treasure. He throws it all into the box, stuffing it in as best he can and then slamming the lid. The noise echoes through the cave and rattles in Tinsley’s head. He can’t stop his bleeding, it spills from his hand and swathes his clothes. There’s no point even trying to stop it. 

Somewhere, he finds time to think about being so wrong. He finds time to think about Dan Cooper still out there living and breathing while he’s here stumbling for breath, his love spilling out over the rocky ground. He finds time to think about the nights. The nights where he forgot to look at the stars, had the most beautiful constellation right by his side. So wrong. He finds too much time to think about being  _ so wrong _ .

He doesn’t see Ricky leave. His head spins and whirls and he can’t stop thinking about dying. And Ricky’s family are still living and will treat him like shit. And Cooper’s still alive to haunt Ricky’s every waking moment. If Tinsley ever makes it out of here- if Tinsley ever- if he- if- 

The pain screams at him and pulls him away from consciousness. Tugging. Black spots in his vision. 

If he ever makes it out of here...


	12. Gone

Tinsley’s face is wet. Getting wetter. Weirdly warm. Is someone licking him? Groggily, Tinsley opens his eyes. A dog. A small, white little terrier pawing at him. When Tinsley wakes the animal barks, once, twice, right by Tinsley’s ear. He hisses at the sound, and then the pain floods back to him. He’s sure he can’t move. 

His jacket is bunched against his wound. His jacket? Is it Ricky’s? No? He can’t remember. It hurts to press. He does anyway. Shadows fuzz in front of the cave entrance, two long silhouettes. People. A woman’s voice asks if he can hear them. He forgets to answer.

* * *

Swaying movement. Hands gripping him. Is he being carried? The sky is grey. He closes his eyes again.

* * *

A car. He’s lying across the back seats. The momentum must have woke him. He looks down at the wound. Clothes are wrapped around it. He must groan because the man in the passenger seat, dog in his lap, turns to look at him.

“You’re awake! Sir, what’s your name?” 

Tinsley sighs.

“We’re taking you to the hospital, it shan’t be long. Sir, can you try and stay awake? Talk to us.”

Tinsley closes his eyes. By choice more than anything.

* * *

When he awakes again it’s to bright white lights and beeping machines. Wires stem from his arm. Busy movement and hushed distant voices floods his ears.

In his nose, stuffy and stinging, the smell of antiseptic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one panic there is a sequel pending!!! But thank you so much to everyone who's read this. I appreciate it so much and I hope you've enjoyed this wild journey lol. Will start posting the sequel early in the New Year probably? Maybe once I've finished with my uni assignments idk.  
> Anyways love you all so much!!


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